The Warbler is a Tramp
by SarkyBlueEyes
Summary: Down on his luck after graduating NYADA, Kurt Hummel jumps at the opportunity to become personal assistant to the British boy band, The Warblers. Is a legal contract enough to keep their notoriously promiscuous front man, Blaine Anderson, a professional distance from the newly hired help, or will he charm his way into Kurt's bed and by extension, his heart?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:  
><strong>

**Some of the characters from Glee are British in this story. The nationalities are listed below to help you differentiate. I hope I can give some of my fellow Klainers some happiness during this very tense hiatus. **

**Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine. They all belong to FOX and Ryan Murphy.**

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><p><strong>Nationalities<strong>  
>American:<br>Kurt Hummel – Lima, Ohio  
>Quinn Fabray – Ohio<br>Mercedes Jones – Michigan  
>Noah Puckerman – Ohio<br>Sugar Motta – New York  
>Sam Evans – Texas<br>Rachel Berry – Lima, Ohio  
>Santana Lopez – Lima, Ohio<br>Kitty Wilde – California  
>Chandler Keihl – New York<p>

British:  
>Blaine Anderson (English - Surrey)<br>Jeff Sterling (English – East London but claims to be from North London)  
>David Thompson (English - Hertfordshire)<br>Trent Nixon (Welsh – Carmarthen)  
>Nick Duvall (Northern Irish - Belfast)<br>Wesley Montgomery (English – Yorkshire)

**The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter One**

_**CelebSpy **_

_**Blaine's night of passion ... again**_

_Another day goes by and more scandals are afoot in Celebville. At this point though, we at CelebSpy would hardly call the latest tidbit on Blaine Anderson a scandal. Sources close to the lead singer of British boy band, The Warblers, have revealed the singer has lured yet another celebrity gentleman to his bachelor pad. _

_Just last week Mr. Anderson's people released a statement claiming the bad boy serial dater was trying to settle down. Their efforts were in vain though. Three days later Anderson made his point of view extremely clear to a group of paparazzi:_

"_Who the f***k settles down at nineteen?" _

_Rumor has it he was spotted canoodling at the after party of the AMAs with none other than Broadway actor Chandler Keihl, who rose to fame in the revival of Bugsy Malone three years ago. _

"_They looked pretty smitten," our source revealed. "Or at least, Chandler did. He was trying to play hard-to-get, but you know what Blaine's like. All you have to do is look into that dreamy gaze and you're a goner."_

_The two left the party and reportedly went back to Blaine's swanky New York hotel suite, a development which has left his band mates furious. _

"_It's bad press for all of them. Their fan base is very young, and parents are starting to see him as a bad role model. It's not even about his sexuality. It's the fact he seems to be throwing himself around. Impressionable young fans will follow his lead," Phil Turnby, celebrity psychologist and author of Celebrity Rehab 101, told the New York Times last week._

_Bad role model or not, he doesn't look to be calming down anytime soon, and if the glum face on Chandler is anything to go by, he's already received the boot. Who will Blaine's next squeeze be? We'll keep you posted._

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><p>Kurt rolled his eyes and flicked through to another page on his phone's web browser. He should have probably spent his journey to Canary Records going over the key points he wanted to raise during his interview. His dad always used to tear him away from his books the night before a test in high school though, and it's difficult to break habit.<p>

_"It won't do to prepare and prepare only to overcook the turkey, kiddo," _he used to say, thrusting a copy of Vogue at Kurt and parking him on the couch.

Kurt couldn't help thinking he had a point there; if he didn't know what he wanted to say now, he never would. And if truth be told the more he's read up on the band, the less appealing he finds the position he's interviewing for.

"Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt quickly hid his phone away in his bag and looked up at the beautiful blonde woman in front of him. Her sleek hair was pulled back in a classic ponytail showing off her pale and clear complexion, small, straight nose and high cheekbones. Kurt looked her up and down from her black suit jacket (Dior if he wasn't mistaken), to the sharp points of her Jimmy Choo's.

"When you're done with the inventory, you can follow me," she said sharply.

Kurt flinched, flushing to his ears_. Great start, Kurt_. He clambered to his feet and hurried after the stern woman down the corridor.

"My name is Ms. Quinn Fabray. You can call me Ms. Fabray or Devil Incarnate if you prefer," she said. At his raised eyebrow she smirked. "The Warbler's call me that more often than anything. You'll be interviewing with a Mr. Wesley Montgomery. You have exactly fifteen minutes to wow him, or get off the premises."

They'd reached a door at the end of the corridor by that point. "Good luck." She turned the doorknob and jerked her head inside. Kurt tried to ignore the condescension behind her smirk, straightened his back, lifted his chin and strode into the room.

Wesley Montgomery had already stood from his seat and walked around his desk to greet him.

"Mr. Hummel I presume?" he said. Kurt was intrigued by his accent. He knew of course that the UK had many accents (or at least he did since becoming addicted to Downton Abbey), but he still expected every English person he met to sound more like the Crawleys than the downstairs staff.

Kurt shook his hand firmly ("_A firm handshake is as good as any reference or speech you can give," _his dad would say) and smiled in a way he hoped was charming, or at the very least masked his nerves. "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Montgomery."

"Please, call me Wes, if it's okay for me to address you as Kurt?"

Kurt's eyebrows rose in surprise. In all the interviews he'd been to since graduating from college, none had ever progressed to first name basis. "I'm fine with that... Wes."

"Excellent," Wes said. "Now, your interview last week was with Thad Stevens, right?" At Kurt's nod of confirmation, he settled one hand over the other on his desk. "I won't beat around the bush here, Kurt. The position I'm trying to fill has been taken by many people in the last three years and, well, by this point I'm far beyond caring too much about formalities when it comes to hiring an assistant."

Kurt nodded, lowering into the seat opposite Wes, although truthfully he didn't quite understand where this was going.

Wes sighed long-sufferingly and dragged his hand through his hair, rested his nails against the desk. "We've had plenty of people interview, a fair few get the job and every single one of them quit on the spot for one reason or another. I'm not trying to put you off the position, it's just we've reached a point where we can't afford to send anyone in half blindfolded."

Kurt gaped at him. What the hell did this band put people through? He had half a mind to say, 'Thank you very much and goodbye,' right then and there. His curiosity was piqued though and he found himself wishing Wes would elaborate.

"The lads are nice guys," Wes said. "We were in school together. I've been managing them ever since they performed on Britain's Got Talent my last year at Dalton Academy."

Kurt nodded. He'd read up on the Warblers' history the day he got the call for the interview.

"They're just... a handful. As an assistant you would be required to follow wherever they go. They do spend time over here in the States, but their full time homes are still in the UK. You would be spending a lot of your time hopping between London, New York and LA, unless of course they are going elsewhere for press and tours. You'd be waking them up in the mornings, keeping tabs on them, running errands, fetching coffee, and taking calls on their behalves, bringing visitors to meet them, making sure they know where they are supposed to be; basically babysitting them so everyone else can get their jobs done. It is hard work, made even harder by the fact the lot of them like to be a nuisance. As their assistant I must warn you they will not make your job easy, should you prove yourself to be the ideal candidate."

Kurt swallowed thickly and nodded. He'd read about the travelling in the job description. In fact, it was the part that terrified and thrilled him the most. He'd never left the US, but he _really_ wanted to, even if he never got to see much of the world around him, too intent on keeping up with his job's duties, just the knowledge he was in a different place would be enough for him. Alas, that didn't make the prospect any less terrifying.

"I understand, Wes," said Kurt. "I know I would be literally jumping in the deep end here, but I've thought it over and I'd like to give it a shot."

Wes surveyed him over his spectacles, an unreadable expression on his face. It made Kurt feel as though he was being cross-examined by an attorney. Wes lifted his spectacles from his face and placed them on the table, rubbing his eyes for a moment.

"I don't doubt that," he began. "Your resume, although smaller than many of the other candidates we've had, is impressive in detail. One of the main reasons we brought you back for a second interview today is because your personality shone through, both in person and on the page. A fashion internship at Vogue, you had a small part as a flying monkey in Wicked, you can fix a car in your sleep," he listed off from the papers in front of him. "I get the impression you would get along with all the guys."

Kurt smiled. He was particularly proud of the five months he spent working at the Gershwin Theatre.

"But," Wes broke off and sighed. "Forgive me for being unorthodox here, but I am going to ask you a question that... ordinarily it wouldn't come up in an interview for legal reasons. You are well within your rights to refuse to answer. But if you do choose to, I assure you, it will not factor into my decision whether or not to offer you the job."

He looked Kurt in the eye steadily. Kurt could only nod in intrigue and gesture for him to continue.

Wes took a deep breath. "The personal blog you supplied in your resume, states that you are gay?"

Kurt blanched visibly. Yes, this was an odd thing to ask in an interview. What on Earth did his sexual orientation have to do with anything? Unsure of where this line of questioning was headed, Kurt dipped his head after a long pause and said, "Yes. I'm very open about that."

Wes nodded and rubbed his eyes again. "Blaine, he uh ... are you aware of tabloid gossip?"

"Are you trying to hire someone _for_ Blaine?" Kurt blurted out before he could stop himself. "Because if you were hoping for a candidate willing to sleep with him, I'm definitely not the man. I'm not for sale."

"No, no, no Kurt. No!" Wes raised both arms, palms out in a soothing gesture, indicating for Kurt to sit down again. Kurt, who hadn't realized he was now standing, perched gingerly on his seat again, ready to spring up at a moment's notice.

"No," Wes began again. "I'm sorry, that was a bad way to start the topic, clearly. I should have opened with this: We want to hire you, Kurt. The reason I ask, is because the lead singer of the band, Blaine... his behavior lately has left us no choice but to warn potential new assistants about the situation they could be getting into. Blaine also prefers the company of men, and his professionalism with members of the team... has been questionable lately."

Kurt blinked his eyes away from Wes's probing gaze sheepishly, and blushed to the roots of his impeccable hairline. "Oh... sorry."

"Don't be," Wes smiled gently. "I'm sorry for my poor wording. If anything your outburst is what I was looking for. Blaine is... difficult," Wes admitted. "He wasn't always. He just- well, never mind how that changed. The point is, we have had gay men take on this job many times over, and Blaine has had unacceptable relations with every single one of them, to put it bluntly. Then when he gets bored (which he always does), the employee quits and leaves us soon after. We're hoping to hire someone who takes pride in their work and he wouldn't be able to seduce, but we can't for obvious discriminatory reasons, only consider_ straight _males. This is me giving you the forewarning, so when I formerly offer you the job, if you wanted to turn us down, you could do so having been fully informed."

"That won't be a problem, Wes," Kurt said decisively.

Kurt was a lot of things, but he certainly didn't sleep around. He liked romance and committed relationships. The idea of him going along with whatever the lead singer of The Warblers wanted was ludicrous to his mind. Not only would it be unprofessional, the boy's reputation alone was enough to put Kurt off. Why risk sleeping with someone who sees men as a means to an end and could have picked up any number of STDs along the way?

"You're sure?" Wes raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Yes."

"Well, in that case when can you start?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi! As a reviewer of the last chapter pointed out, in the real world, Wes wouldn't get away with asking Kurt about his sexuality in an interview. I am aware of this, but thank you for pointing it out. As a UK citizen, our discrimination laws are potentially even stricter than US laws. **I have tweaked the chapter to make this issue a bit clearer though. **Considering the Glee writers overlook facts like Lima not having a zoo, and that people need a degree to become a teacher, I hope in this instance, you can suspend disbelief, as we often do when we watch the show. I just wanted to move the plot along a bit quicker. I'm sorry if it irritates anyone. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Two<strong>

"You can't be serious!"

Kurt rolled his eyes. Rachel had been saying the same thing over and over for the last three hours, and it was seriously starting to get on his nerves.

"I am perfectly serious, Rach," he said, and flopped down on the sofa next to Santana to rest his head against her shoulder. If you had told Kurt back in high school, that he would one day willingly look to Santana Lopez for support in his own home, he would have laughed and claimed that he'd sooner put his McQueen collection through a shredder. A lot changes in three years though, and the Latina was a helpful ally against the force of nature that was Rachel Berry.

"But, you can't leave me here with just her!" Rachel accused, gesturing to their Bushwick loft of four years. "What about the rent?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "What's wrong, Berry, scared Lady Hummel won't be able to protect you anymore?"

"I'll kill her!"

"It's cute you think you'd get the chance," Santana shot back. "I have razor blades in my hair, remember?"

"Enough!" Kurt grumbled, and lifted his head to glare at his best friend. "I won't always be gone. I'll still pay my share of the rent. The Warblers have been spending a lot of time here in New York ever since they cracked the American market, so there's a good chance I'll be coming home a lot. I've already had Dad lecturing me about safety; can you please just smile and be happy for me for a change?"

Rachel's frown softened immediately, and she bounced onto the sofa on his other side. "I _am_ happy for you. I'm sorry. I'm just going to miss having you around all the time." She sighed. "And I'm worried about you. That Blaine guy sounds like trouble, and while I know you don't think so, you _are_ a catch. He'd have to be blind not to notice you. What if he hurts you?"

Kurt snorted at the ceiling. "It won't come to that. I mean, yes, the Warbler is a bit of a tramp, but when have I ever been gullible to sleaze balls?"

"It wouldn't be so bad to have that notch on your belt, Hummel," Santana mused, side-eyeing Rachel as she began humming The Lady is a Tramp. "I know a lot of people can say they've tapped that, if the tabloids are anything to go by, but you can spin that tale any way you want once it's over."

"Santana!" Rachel rounded on her. "They wouldn't have warned him about Blaine if he wasn't a serious concern for Kurt."

"At least he could say he banged the lead singer of the band tweens used to wet themselves over back in 2016."

"Oh the temptation," Kurt said sarcastically, fishing his phone out of his pocket to see if his new itinerary had arrived yet. He had a lot of things to sort out before his first day in a week's time, and he wanted to be as prepared as possible. As it happened it was sat in his inbox.

From what he could tell the guys would be in New York for his first month, which was handy because Kurt's UK work visa would take up to three weeks to process once his Certificate of Sponsorship came through from the Canary Records London branch. Then they would be returning to London for studio sessions over the next two months.

He smiled at the thought of being in London a month from now. He'd always wanted to stand at the gates of Buckingham Palace, look up at Big Ben, see a few shows on the West End and view the skyline from the London Eye. Maybe he'd have a few moments to spare for that, when he wasn't running around after five pampered recording artists. A guy could dream.

"So you're really taking the job?" Rachel asked, resting her chin on his shoulder to look at the itinerary too.

"Definitely," he confirmed. "How often do these kinds of opportunities come up? And besides, the contract I signed says I can't fornicate with anyone in the band anyway, so there's no way I'd let him get me fired."

Santana snorted. "_Fornicate? _Say 'fuck' or nothing if you ever want to get laid again. Are you the only assistant?"

He nodded. "For now. Why?"

"Well, bands and recording artists always have huge entourages, or at least I will when I make it big," Santana said. Kurt smiled indulgently at that. "Don't bands usually have at least one assistant per band member?"

"Wes said they've had a lot of trouble keeping people on as assistant," Kurt responded quietly. He ignored the twinge in his stomach telling him to be wary of that fact. Why did they struggle so much? Surely it can't just be harmless pranks and Blaine's libido that scared people away? "There are plenty of other people around to help me out though. Wes and his assistant Quinn are always there apparently. And as far as entourages go, theirs is pretty large."

"Maybe I should apply," Santana said. "Help you keep them in check."

"No offense, but I'd rather do this without you digging your claws in on my behalf, effective as they are."

She shrugged and tossed her sleek dark hair over her shoulder to cascade down her back. He didn't need her there. He didn't. Kurt wished his subconscious sounded convinced.

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><p>The week before his first day went quickly for Kurt, and on Monday morning, he swallowed down the swarm of butterflies batting their wings insistently at the walls of his stomach. Nerves were normal, good even, healthy. Weren't they? I mean, it was just a job that could either be the best or worst thing to ever happen to him. Nothing to worry about...<p>

_"Please_ be the best," he muttered to himself.

Spending the week convincing himself he was ready for any challenge was a wasted effort. The inevitable doubt crept in on Sunday night, right on time for a restless night. He gave up on sleep two hours before his alarm, in favor of occupying his head with mindless reality shows, and by the time he needed to leave, he'd been dressed and pacing the living area of the loft for over 40 minutes.

Quinn met him in the lobby when he arrived at Canary Records at 8 am sharp. They spent the whole morning walking to and from the elevators so she could show him around the New York building as an actual employee.

For that reason he didn't meet any members of the band until lunch time. Quinn dragged him to the cafeteria and left him to eat and relax for an hour, while she ran some errands. He was quite glad of the alone time. Quinn wasn't one for small talk, and she didn't laugh at any of his witty quips. He could already see why the Warblers might not be so fond of her.

"Well, I haven't seen you before?"

Kurt startled at the distinctly English voice from his left and choked on a lettuce leaf. The blonde boy stood to the left of his table cocked his head and bounced on his toes in anticipation, like he was a Labrador being introduced to a brand new chew toy. Kurt finished swallowing his food as gracefully as possible and held his hand to his chest.

"Holy shit, you scared the crap out of me!"

Blondie grinned at that and parked himself on the bench across the table from Kurt. "Yeah, I get that a lot. Are you new, or have you been hiding from us?"

"New," Kurt confirmed. "I'm Kurt. It's my first day."

"Jeff," the other said, held his hand out for Kurt to shake and climbed onto the bench across the table from him. "Nice to meet you, mate. Kurt..." He mulled the name over in his head. "Kurt, Kurt - KURT!"

Kurt clamped his teeth over his fork to stop himself choking on grated carrots this time.

"Nick, what's the name of the new assistant, again?" Jeff bellowed at a dark haired guy who was piling food onto a plate at the buffet cart.

"Wes called him Kurt," Nick responded, not even turning around.

Jeff jumped out of his seat and jabbed his index finger in Kurt's direction excitedly. "Found him!"

"I wasn't aware I was playing hide and seek," Kurt deadpanned, baffled by the ball of energy before him.

Jeff chuckled as Nick approached. "And he's funny."

"Shit Wes, _really_?" Nick scoffed, throwing a glance at Kurt when he settled down at the table without so much as a 'this seat taken?'

Kurt watched the pair shovel food into their mouths. It took a few moments longer for him to connect the dots and appreciate the significance that he was speaking to one English guy and an Irish one. They were Warblers.

"Nick Duval and Jeff Sterling, I presume?" Kurt said, surreptitiously wiped his hand on his trouser leg, and held it out for Nick to shake. "I'm your new slave."

Nick took a moment to look from Kurt's hand to his face, eyes narrowed. Kurt shifted uncomfortably and almost lowered it again, embarrassed. Nick's frown was replaced by a lopsided and genuine smile a moment later though and he accepted the gesture. "Nice to meet you, lad. You don't sound like a New York native to me."

"Neither do you," Kurt quipped.

"That I'm not," Nick conceded, and chewed a mouthful of mash potato before continuing. "I'm from Northern Ireland. Belfast."

Kurt nodded. He'd read Nick's Wikipedia page. "Lima, Ohio."

"Jeff here tells everyone he's from North London, but he's actually from the East End. It fits better with the band's preppy image. You'll notice the difference when he's drunk and the cockney comes out in him."

"Will that be often?" Kurt asked. He wasn't a big drinker himself.

"Most likely," Jeff butted in. "We drink how you Americans eat."

"Said the guy eating three meals in one, while I pick at a salad?"

Nick froze with a forkful halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised. "And what is your attitude to junk food?" he asked seriously.

"Widely positive," Kurt replied, sensing this could tip their approval of him one way or the other. "I'm only on the salad today because I over indulged on pizza and cheesecake this weekend."

"Yes!" Jeff lifted his arms in victory. "Can we keep him? Our last assistant was a health freak. He kept swapping chocolate for breakfast bars and fruit." He scrunched up his nose in distaste.

Kurt felt his pain. Living with a vegan like Rachel was a nightmare, when he was craving real cheesecake. "So anyway, Wes seemed to think I needed warning against taking the job with you guys," Kurt said with a clear of the throat. He'd rather get to the bottom of this mystery now, possibly nip any ploys and plots in the bud early. He looked between them expectantly.

"Did he now?"

Kurt jumped for the third time in the space of five minutes at the new voice. Jesus, did these guys lurk behind pot plants before making their presence known? Looking up, his shoulders tensed when the Warbler he knew to be Blaine, sat down on Kurt's bench.

"What was he warning about?" Blaine asked, elbows against the table behind him.

Kurt didn't miss the sweep Blaine's eyes did over his dark skinny jeans, fitted waistcoat and the silken blue scarf wrapped around his neck. His mouth opened and closed a few times; Kurt didn't know how to answer that. Truthfully, he'd hoped he wouldn't be caught off guard meeting this particular Warbler, after Wes' discussion with him.

"Well, you look like shit." Jeff scowled at the back of Blaine's messy head of curly hair.

Blaine shrugged. His hazel eyes (which were larger in person than in pictures) were dulled by the presence of dark shadows beneath them, his jaw dusted with stubble rarely seen on the singer at public events.

"Late night," Blaine said with a wink.

Nick rolled his eyes. "Where were you?"

"Around. What did Wes warn you about?" Blaine asked Kurt.

He cocked his head to the side and gave Kurt a lopsided smirk, that was answered by the narrowing of Kurt's.

"I think the usual introduction when you first meet somebody is: 'Hi, nice to meet you, my name is Blaine'," Kurt said coldly. "Considering I just did it for you though, I'll be the polite one and say: Hello Blaine, my name is Kurt. It's a pleasure to meet you." Kurt smiled sweetly, fluttered his fingers and went back to his salad.

"Alright mate, chill out!" Blaine held his hands up in defeat, directing his middle finger at Nick and Jeff when they sniggered into their lunches. "You already knew who I was, and I figured Jeff had latched onto the new assistant, so I knew who _you_ were. Excuse me for taking an interest."

"Taking an interest? Is my first job going to be teaching you proper etiquette and manners?" Kurt snapped.

He tensed when Blaine's hand pressed against his knee. "You can teach me manners any time you like, darling," he said coyly.

The color in Kurt's cheeks spread to the tips of his ears. Moving himself to the edge of the bench and out of Blaine's reach, he held his index finger up in warning. "Not happening, Anderson, so don't even go there."

Blaine was saved from replying by the arrival of Quinn, who surveyed the scene before her with narrowed and critical eyes.

"I see you three have met your new assistant. Is everything okay?"

"Fine," Kurt said. "Is it time to go?"

She nodded. He got up and put his tray and plate away in the disposal area.

"Well, he's a bit prickly. What the fuck was that?" Kurt heard Blaine say as he walked past. He waved to Nick and Jeff and offered Blaine a curt nod, barely withholding a smirk at Jeff's gleeful reply as he left the cafeteria;

"Oh, we are _so_ keeping this one. That, my friend, was a rejection. Welcome to the real world, Blainey."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Because I am dealing with American and British characters in this story, I have tried to make sure their dialogue is authentic. I am British though, so if you spot an American character saying something that is a little too British (unless they're doing so jokingly etc), feel free to point it out and I'll correct it. **

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Glee.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Three<strong>

Kurt hated to admit it, but by his third day as The Warblers' assistant, he could see why so many former employees quit on them. When Wes said they were a handful, Kurt should have realized he meant that in the plural sense. Had he been equipped with six hands he might have stood a better chance of keeping tabs on all five of them. As nature would have it though, he had to make do with the two, so his job was next to impossible!

It started the morning of his second day.

Step one: Phone Blaine, Jeff, Nick, David and Trent (the latter two, he'd only met in passing the day before) to make sure they were awake, and knew where they were supposed to be that day.

Such a simple task with below satisfactory results. Calling Blaine first to get him out of the way didn't work out, because there was no response to his messages. Nick answered on the fifth ring, but Kurt quickly hung up when he realized there was someone in the background determined to let the world know exactly what they were doing. Jeff informed Kurt he was at the gym, and if Kurt didn't have a blueberry muffin on offer when they got to the office, their relationship was doomed from the start. Kurt had rolled his eyes at that, but wrote the muffin down as a job to do. David had asked him if he knew what the time was and hung up, and Trent very apologetically informed him he'd crashed in New Jersey the night before.

All of that took a staggering 45 minutes and he was late on his morning schedule.

"You look like shit already, Hummel," Santana said, when she walked out of her bedroom partition.

Kurt arrived at Canary Records with minutes to spare, sweating and disheveled… or so he thought. It turned out someone had altered his schedule without his noticing, so the meeting he'd ran across New York to ensure The Warblers were on time for, was scheduled for 10am not 8.30am.

"It starts," Wes said sympathetically and clapped Kurt on the back.

Four of the Warblers were present by the time 10am rolled around. Kurt tossed the muffin at a grinning Jeff and deliberately didn't bring up the schedule thing.

Of course one of them was the culprit, but his dad always said: 'Never show weakness. They'll get bored and find another plaything.'

Kurt dialed Blaine's number again.

"23 missed calls from you. If you wanted me this badly, all you had to do was be nice to me yesterday. I would have happily rimmed you," Blaine opened with upon picking up.

Kurt choked on his own saliva and lifted the phone away from his ear, staring at it in horror. "Excuse me?"

"For fuck's sake," David growled. He snatched the phone from Kurt.

"Blaine, if you don't get your smug arse over here in the next fifteen minutes, I will personally see to it your balls are strung up on a flag pole… don't lie to me. I couldn't give a toss if you were stuck on the toilet with diarrhea; we all had to get up, so you can too. Oh, and cut the guy a break, it's his second day. At least let him settle in before you attempt to shag him."

David hung up and gave the phone back to Kurt.

"Thanks."

"The tosser deserved it," David said, shrugged and went back to helping Trent solve a level on Farm Heroes.

Step Two: Wes had learned early on that the boys didn't pay attention in meetings, unless all methods of communication were taken off them. Kurt had to not only take them away (Trent was particularly attached to his iPhone and it took the combined effort of David, Nick and Wes to wrestle it off him), but also take calls on their behalves during meetings.

All of his administrative work took far longer when he was picking up one of five phones every other minute to take abuse and messages from strangers.

He couldn't deny it was interesting though, learning this much about them simply by the people who called them. Jeff's mother called five times that Tuesday alone, Blaine seemed to get text messages from someone named 'Latest Squeeze 67' on a regular basis (some of which made Kurt blush to his roots), and if the phone calls David received were any indication, he was in an ongoing battle with his cellphone network provider.

On Wednesday he awoke to no less than 22 text messages asking him to run errands. Sat up in bed, he scrolled through them sleepily.

**Jeff (06:03): Just remembered it's my mate Lloyd's birthday next week, can you buy him a present for me?**

"Nice and vague."

**Nick (06:07): I'm out of condoms. Please find a shop that sells Durex Real Feel. Need them tonight.**

"Too much information."

**Jeff (06:17): Actually can you buy my mum something too?**

"Not a mind reader, Jeff."

**Trent (06:19): Hey! How are you? I've got a suit in the dry cleaners that needs picking up. Quinn can give you the address. XXX**

Kurt smirked. "And you couldn't give me the address yourself because…?"

**Jeff (06:23): You can just find a florist in London if you want. Ask them to send flowers to Mum. Ta!**

"They better take internet orders. I'm not calling a florist in England from here."

**Quinn (06:25): Wes wants the boys' costume confirmations from the stylists for tonight's gig.**

Kurt rolled his eyes at that.

**David (06:26): If you bring me a latte today, I'll drag Blaine away from you by the ball sack.**

"Deal."

**Blaine (06:29): 'Latest Squeeze 68' is gonna text me later (could have been you). Can you tell him to get lost for me later? Cheers, gorgeous.**

"Not even going to dignify that with a response."

**Jeff (06:33): If the message could say "Happy belated birthday Mum! Love Jeff" that would be awesome.**

And the list kept coming. After checking their driver knew the correct time to pick the band up (he confirmed with Quinn this time), he made his way to Central Park where the band would be performing in a one-off spring music festival. They were scheduled for a sound check that morning. Kurt gave David his latte, received playful abuse from the others for favoritism, ran to find Wes to let him know all were accounted for, and spent the next five hours working down the list in between taking calls and answering emails.

By the time he got back to the park, having dropped off Nick's condoms, and Trent's dry cleaning at the hotel, he handed off the 10 packets of MnMs they asked for after lunch, and despaired when the boys added seven items to the list. They were trying to kill him. He flopped down at the nearest table in the temporary 'break area' for concert staff.

"Long day?" the curvy African American woman to his left asked. Mercedes, his brain supplied. He'd briefly met her on his first day.

Kurt put his head down on the table in response.

Mercedes chuckled.

"You need coffee and a bagel," she said. Kurt nodded and made to get up, but she manhandled him back down on the chair and wagged a gloved finger. "Sit down. I'll be right back."

Kurt watched her head to the counter, and smiled in gratitude when she returned with a steaming cup full of coffee, a muffin and a bagel. She waved away his 'Thank you', and watched in amusement when he groaned in pleasure from the first sip.

"If it makes you feel better, you've lasted a day longer than thirteen of their former assistants," she said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "They lasted two days?"

She nodded and sipped her own coffee, head tilted thoughtfully. "I think they like you. They're going easier on you than most of the others."

"This is easy?" Kurt said incredulously.

Mercedes snorted into her cup.

"I think they recognize you won't break easily," Mercedes carried on. "I overheard the conversation you had with Nick, Jeff and Blaine on Monday. They know you're not gonna' take crap from them. Speaking of, how's Blaine been? How many times has he implied he wants to get in your pants?"

Kurt groaned and put his head in his hands. "I've lost count. Is he always so…?"

"Crude?" she supplied. "Pretty much. He's a nice guy, really. He's just… I don't know, hormone driven? David says he used to be quite shy back at boarding school, but ever since they hit the charts and he admitted he was gay to the press, men come easily for him. No pun intended," she added when Kurt snorted into his cup. "We're all hoping he'll calm down soon, but so far…"

Kurt sighed long-sufferingly. Blaine had done nothing but put Kurt off. He'd hoped he would take Kurt's warning to stay away to heart after that first day, leave him be. On the contrary, he took it as a challenge to his ego rather than a plea to respect Kurt's personal and professional space. If only Kurt could get through to him, they could try and be friends at least.

"What exactly do you do?" Kurt inquired.

"I'm the assistant stylist. Jan's my superior." She jabbed her thumb at a woman with cropped, vibrant red hair, who was talking heatedly with the hair and make-up assistant, Sugar. "By the way, if you're going to ask me to send the costume confirmations to Wes, I already did it, so you can cross that one off your list."

"Oh my god!" Kurt dropped his spoon and scrambled for his phone. "I can't believe I forgot that one! Thank you, you just saved my ass!"

"Just tell me we can be friends and I'll call it even."

Kurt looked up at that. "I think I can find that agreeable."

Grinning widely, Mercedes checked the time on her cellphone and stood up. "Good. I gotta' run. Can you send the five of them over to me and Sugar around three, please? Their set starts at 7.30 and they need to do a dress rehearsal before the crowd is allowed into the concert space at four."

"Sure," Kurt said, checking the time and noting it down as a priority. "See you later."

* * *

><p>"Blaine?"<p>

Kurt tapped on the door of the band's trailer after dress rehearsal and stood back, hands in his pockets. The bitter wind had been numbing his fingers all day, the color in his cheeks pink and blotchy. Who thought it was a good idea to throw an outside concert in March, anyway?

Catching Blaine on his own, was not Kurt's first choice. They had been busy all day with sound checks, choreography rehearsals, hair and make-up, and meet-and-greets though, so he could either address him now, or wait until the concert was over. The sound of squealing, excited females could already be heard crossing the barriers out front.

Blaine opened his trailer door dressed in an over-sized sweater. Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms with one foot casually behind the other. "I was wondering how long it would take you," he greeted, dipping his head to the side coyly.

Kurt steadied his irritation with a big breath. "This is a business call, Anderson."

"They all are." Blaine raised an eyebrow, lip twisting up at the side.

"Look," Kurt said, fishing the cellphone Blaine had handed him earlier out of his jacket pocket. "You were right about that guy texting you. I've tried to tell him you're not interested, but he won't shut up. And the last text he sent you was a picture of his... his uh, his dick so…"

Surprise was evident in the way Blaine blinked at him. "You've seriously been answering my texts for me?"

"Well, yeah, you asked me to."

Blaine grinned at him in amazement, showing all of his bleached white, but not entirely straight teeth. "You are something else. I think I'm on Jeff's side, we should keep you."

Kurt ground his own teeth together. "I take it the other assistants would never do this for you?"

Blaine shrugged. "I couldn't care less if they did or didn't. The important thing is you did, and I have to wonder why?"

Kurt cocked his head, confused. "… Maybe, because it's my job?"

"Are you sure about that?" Blaine left his door open and descended the three steps to the grass beneath them. Kurt took a step back. "I like to think it's because you secretly want to impress me."

"Are you always this full of yourself?" Kurt asked.

"It's the accent, isn't it?"

"Not all Americans love British accents, Blaine."

"You do."

"You're deluded."

"You're in denial."

"Look, what do you want me to do about the guy?" Kurt snapped. He had better things to do with his time.

"Well," Blaine smoothed down his curls, gelled back for the concert, "ideally you would take off your clothes, snap a photo with me and send it to him with the caption 'sorry, busy sucking cock'. Then you would allow me to do so back there on my couch."

Oh, for the love of-

"Stop!" Kurt spat, fists clenched at his sides.

"What?"

"It's not funny, Blaine. Maybe this is all fun and games to you, but I'd actually like to be able to go to work without being sexually harassed by an arrogant douche-bag, who doesn't understand the meaning of the word 'no'!"

Blaine looked suitably chastised. "Sexual hara – Kurt!"

"Just stay away from me, Anderson. Answer your own texts in future." Kurt chucked the cellphone up in the air, not caring if Blaine managed to catch it, spun on his heel and stormed away, leaving Blaine to gawp at the back of his retreating form.

* * *

><p>Kurt tried to mask the upset of his confrontation with Blaine from everyone else for the remainder of the working day. They had more important things to do than comfort the new guy.<p>

He couldn't hide it when he returned home later that night though, couldn't even look Blaine in the eye when he reminded each of the band members to be ready at 5.45am for a morning of interviews about their new brand cologne. He was so tired by the time he pushed his loft door open, that his emotions were heightened, his body ached from a hard day, and he just wanted comfort.

Rachel, lounging on the couch, took one look at him and opened her arms.

"You can file a complaint against him for sexual harassment, honey," Rachel whispered into his hair after a time.

Kurt shook his head. He didn't want to make a name for himself as the guy who filed a lawsuit against Blaine Anderson, if he could help it. And besides, with a bit of luck, his outburst earlier would have put the arrogant pig in his place for good. And if not?

Hummel's weren't quitters.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading and reviewing so far! They make me smile. On we go:**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Four<strong>

An incessant buzzing awoke Kurt in the early hours of the Monday the band were due to head back to London. At first he ignored it, sighing in relief when it went away. The buzz would return seconds later over and over though, and after the fifth time Kurt had no choice but to answer, for fear of Santana making good on her threat;

"If you don't answer that phone, Hummel, I will shut your fingers in the kitchen draw!"

Kurt groaned and rolled over to latch his hand clumsily around his cell phone.

"What?"

"_Do you know where Blaine is?"_

Kurt squinted at the name on the phone's screen in puzzlement. "Quinn?"

"_No, it's your fairy godmother," _she snapped. _"Yes it's Quinn. Where's Blaine?"_

"Quinn it's," he looked around for his digital alarm clock, "it's 4.15 in the morning. I've been sleeping. In Bushwick. How the hell would I know?"

"_Oh, my mistake, here I was thinking you were their assistant," _she said coldly. _"Listen, princess. The moment you took on this job, the whereabouts of all five of those boys became _your_ responsibility. That's what you're here for, to keep tabs on them so Wes and the rest of us can deal with everything else. I know you must love your beauty sleep, but you're on trial. If you can't cut it, Wes _will _fire you. Find out where the hell Blaine is and get him to JFK 30 minutes before check-in, or don't bother turning up because you won't be coming with us to London. Got it?"_

She hung up before Kurt could answer.

"Shit."

Rachel and Santana were peering into his room partition curiously. "Where's the fire?" Rachel asked, rubbing sleep from her eye.

"Blaine's gone missing and apparently if I don't find him, I'm fired," Kurt replied numbly. He switched his lamp on.

"What, so you're his babysitter now?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I am." Kurt frantically pulled up the schedule for today on the iPad Quinn had given him on his first day.

Check-in was at 9.45, so he had until 9.15 to find Blaine and get him to the airport.

He was never going to make it. He hadn't even _spoken_ to Blaine since that Wednesday three weeks ago, Blaine having chosen to glower at the floor or leave the room when Kurt was around. The vulgar and suggestive remarks had stopped, but in their place he had chosen to make Kurt's life as difficult as possible, his demands growing more ridiculous with each day.

His second week, Kurt was sent to purchase a long list of British products Blaine supposedly couldn't live without. Cadbury's chocolate, Yorkshire Teabags, Marmite, Pot Noodle, and something called a Rowntree Fruit Pastel that Kurt found by chance in an obscure store outside the Subway near Soho. Kurt had let himself into Blaine's hotel suite, dumped the three heavy bags down on the chaise lounge, and startled when a long, pleasured grunt came from behind the closed door of the bedroom. Fingers in his ears, Kurt was back in the corridor with the suite door shut behind him in record time.

Just this last Saturday, Kurt had spent an hour walking around the same block, over and over, trying to locate a specific shop that, it turned out, had closed the year before. Only, Blaine denied ever sending him there. Kurt had wrinkled his nose sardonically at that, accepted a sympathetic grimace from Trent, and went about his day with his head held high and proud.

On Sunday, after three weeks of this shit, Kurt was near the end of his tether, when the child (Kurt refused to consider him a man) asked Kurt to go through his phone and call every number in his contacts list to check their validity. There were 3,134 numbers logged. He wasn't even a third of the way through the list.

And now he had to find the asshole or he was fired. Fabulous.

"What do I do? Who do I call? I don't even know what types of places he hangs out in. I'm screwed!" Kurt said, pacing up and down his bedroom. Santana pushed him down onto his bed with an eye roll.

"Okay, first of all, calm the fuck down. Secondly, who knows the dick best?"

"The Warblers."

"Then _call_ them, numb nuts."

Kurt sifted through his phone's address book, deciding the most sensible person to call would be David.

"_Please tell me you've got Blaine?" _David said, upon picking up.

"No, do you have any idea where he might be?" Kurt cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he hopped across his room trying to put his socks on, throwing a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie on over his undershirt. Fashion would have to wait.

"_We have a few ideas, but so far we've turned up empty. I take it Quinn called you?"_

"Yes. Apparently if he doesn't turn up before check-in, I'm fired."

"_No you're not!" _Kurt heard Jeff shout from the background.

"_Nah you'll be fine, Quinn talks out of her arse and makes threats when she's under pressure from Wes, but Wes answers to us and not Quinn. We like you; ergo your job is safe."_

"Blaine doesn't," Kurt muttered.

He fished his keys out of the bowl by the door, made sure everything he needed for the flight later was by the door (although he was convinced he probably wouldn't need it), and asked Rachel to let the driver Canary Records was sending to collect his luggage into the apartment at 8:15. He slammed the sliding front door shut behind him.

"What happened, anyway? Why'd he disappear?" Kurt asked.

David sighed._ "There was an argument, he got mad, took off and hasn't been answering his phone since. I wish I could say this wasn't a regular occurrence, but I'd be lying, mate."_

David listed off the places they'd checked already and some for Kurt to investigate, while he hailed a cab. Once they'd hung up he figured he may as well try ringing Blaine himself. The connection went straight to voicemail.

"Clever," Kurt muttered. With his phone switched off, no one could trace Blaine location through the phone network.

30 minutes later the cab pulled up at the first diner. Kurt paid the driver extra to make him wait and ran in to check it out. He wasn't in the main diner, or the bathrooms. After a quick conversation with the waitress, he knew no one famous had been there. The 24 hour bar he tried next came up negative too. The only lead he was given turned up around 6am when Nick texted him:

**Nick (06:04): Someone just tweeted they saw Blaine staggering around near Central Park.**

Kurt cursed. Which side? Would he have to go looking for him _in_ Central Park? It was huge! He'd never find him in time. Kurt tried the next bar on the list to rule it out, before asking the cab driver to circle Central Park.

"You realize the meter is high now, don't you, kid?" the driver informed him at 06:46am.

Kurt nodded gravely. He could claim it back off Canary Records. _Or Blaine_, he thought darkly. Kurt pressed his head against the window tiredly; his anger drained slowly, giving way to a twinge of genuine concern that felt like lead in his stomach.

What if Blaine was hurt? What if someone had attacked him? Maybe he had been spotted by a group of fans and crushed in their excitement. Oh no, if he was laid out in a hospital somewhere he was fired for sure. What the heck had made him so mad, he walked out of the hotel the night before a flight home?

Kurt was absorbed in the morbid direction his thoughts had taken, so he didn't notice his phone buzzing in his pocket at first, when he finally fished it out, he cursed himself for missing Blaine's call. He dialed him, knee bouncing impatiently.

"_Hey sssexy?"_

Kurt drew in a calming breath through his nose. "Anderson, where are you? Everyone's worried."

Blaine didn't respond. Kurt frowned, confused by the mixture of harsh breathing and rustling that followed. Clash! Kurt jerked his head away from the speaker with a wince.

"_Fuck!" _

"Blaine, are you there?" More rustling and cursing. "Blaine? Where are you?"

"_Why do you 'ate me?" _Blaine's voice was low, slurred.

"Why do I– what? What was the crash?"

"_Phone slipped," _Blaine mumbled. _"Why... do you h-hate me?"_

"I," Kurt slumped back against the headrest. He ignored the inquisitive looks the taxi driver was giving him. "Blaine, please tell me where you are? Are you safe?"

"_I was just pay-paying you a compliment," _Blaine continued like he hadn't spoken. _"I think you'd be great in bed. All guys want to be great in bed. What's wrong with telling you that?"_

"Blaine, if you tell me where you are, I will come find you and we can have this conversation some other time, but right now, I need to make sure you are okay and don't miss your flight."

"_Don't wanna' go," _Blaine moaned.

"Why not?"

"_You'll be there."_

Ouch. Kurt clutched the phone tightly, tried to will the frustrated tears away. How was this job so exhausting?

"_And the guys all hate me because five- five years of friendship means fuck all to 'em, and they wish I wasn't around." _

"That's not the impression I got from them earlier," Kurt said shakily. Hummel's aren't quitters, it's true, but maybe self-preservation wasn't such a bad route to take, just this once. "And if you miss this flight and hop on the next one, you won't have to worry about me being there anyway. I won't get to go."

"_OW!"_

"Blaine, are you okay?"

"_No," _Blaine groaned. _"I think I just fell over."_

"You… _think_ you fell over?" Jeeze, how drunk was he? "Blaine, do you know where you are? I'm in a cab right now. I can swing by and find you?"

"_Erm I - I dunno - New York." _Kurt counted to five so he didn't lose his temper. _"Outside erm, outside the Wal... Wal uh, Waldorf Astoria."_

Kurt gave the name to the cab driver and made Blaine stay on the line the whole journey, encouraged him not to move. Luckily they were close, and he soon spotted a curly headed figure in a leather jacket, his head leant against the outside wall of the hotel. Kurt climbed out of the taxi, shot an apologetic look at the frowning, disapproving doorman, and approached Blaine with caution.

"Blaine?" He lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and prized the phone away from Blaine's ear. "We need to go."

"No we 'on't," Blaine slurred, slipping on the sidewalk. Kurt caught him around the waist and choked; the stench of stale booze that seeped from every pore of Blaine's body and puffed from his mouth, was rancid.

"Come on, the taxis waiting."

Blaine managed three steps towards the road and puked over the sidewalk. Kurt's screech was loud as it narrowly missed his shoes.

"...Or not. Okay, new plan. You sit here for a moment."

Kurt ran to pay the cab driver, knowing he wouldn't let Blaine in now. Watching the car drive off, he crouched beside Blaine, rubbing his back. A fresh wave of vomit dripped from his mouth. Kurt made sure to breathe through his mouth, and whispered softly in Blaine's ear.

"In through your nose and out through your mouth. Good boy. That's it."

Blaine groaned his misery.

"I know, it'll pass," Kurt said. "Keep breathing."

"Sowwy, so sorwy," Blaine gasped.

"Shhhh, let me know when you're feeling up to moving, because that doorman looks like he's about to call the cops, if the twitchy eye is anything to go by."

Blaine choked a laugh and coughed up bile, a gurgling tear in his throat. "on't make me 'augh!"

"Sorry." Kurt looked around sheepishly.

It took 20 minutes and an argument with the doorman and manager of the hotel, before he was able to coax Blaine off the ground. He slipped Blaine's arm around his neck and kept him upright, to walk a clumsy path across the road, eventually finding an entrance into the park and a bench nearby.

"Sit." Kurt manhandled Blaine onto the bench and sighed when he curled up in the fetal position across the entire length of wood. He had no idea what to do. It was 7.30am. Call Wes? Quinn? Or David?

He chose David.

_"Alright mate, any luck?" _David said, his voice edged with frustration.

"I found him outside the Waldorf Astoria hotel on Park Avenue," Kurt explained, "before he puked his guts out."

David cursed colorfully._ "Where are you now? We're about 20 blocks the other way. We'll come get you both."_

Kurt told him their whereabouts and hung up. Scooping a bottle of spring water out of his bag, he settled on the ground, eye-level with Blaine. He bit his lip and focused on Blaine's condition and not on the fitted Calvin Klein V-neck stretched across his chest under his jacket. Now was not the time to admire a well chiseled body. His offers of water to the sick boy were accepted in small sips as they waited.

He shivered in the chilly morning air, wondering what was taking the guys so long. An old couple walked past, shaking their heads disapprovingly, so Kurt offered back a sarcastic wave until they turned away.

Feeling a pair of eyes on him, he looked up at Blaine blinking droopily back at him. He made a feeble grab for the water bottle, and Kurt sighed, relieved when Blaine took a more generous swig and managed to hold it down.

"What did you mean by 'you won't get to go'?" Blaine asked.

Kurt noted his voice was clearer, less slurred than before. "Quinn said it was my job to keep tabs on you," he said, "and if I didn't find you, I was fired."

Blaine's mouth opened and closed a few times, in a struggle to comprehend words. He pressed his forehead into the wood of the bench and mumbled gratefully as the cool varnish in the early spring morning soothed his heated skin.

"Sorry," Blaine whispered.

Kurt shrugged. "It's fine. I'll just quit before Wes can be persuaded to fire me. At least then it'll be on my own terms."

"What?" Blaine tried to sit up, and thought better of it when his head spun. "Why would- you found me. I'm found. I can't exactly run from you right now."

Kurt looked away, unable to take the scrutiny of his deep hazel eyes. Despite their glassy quality, Blaine seemed to be seeing Kurt with more clarity that morning than any other time they'd conversed. Like he'd finally realized Kurt was a person, not a prop.

"You told me you didn't want to go to England because I'd be there," Kurt whispered, drew his knees up to his chest protectively. "I don't want to make you miserable, Blaine. It's better if I just-"

"Stay."

"What?"

Blaine sat up with difficulty, his grip tight on the bench for support. "I made you hate me. I don't want you to. So stay."

"I don't hate you," Kurt whispered. "Frustrate me, yes, but it's not hate."

Blaine was silent for a few minutes. Kurt thought he might have dozed off, but then he whispered, "I'm sorry I harassed you. I - I didn't realize I was doing that until you said it."

"It's okay. I get it." You're used to getting away with things, he added silently.

A car screeching to a halt interrupted any further progression of the conversation. Jeff, David, Nick and Trent hurried through the gates on foot, with little to no regard for the law, if the state of their parallel parking was anything to go on.

"There you guys are!" Nick called out.

"You look like shit, Bee," Jeff said.

"Fuck you," Blaine moaned.

"We called Wes to let him know you found him, Kurt," Trent said from behind Nick, who was helping David haul Blaine up and back down the path.

"Time to catch a flight, Blainers," said Jeff, "and if you puke in the car, you're paying for it. It's a rental."

"You coming with, Kurt?" Trent asked, and offered Kurt a hopeful, wide-eyed, boyish smile.

Kurt chewed on his nail and looked from Blaine to Trent, torn. Was Blaine serious about wanting him to stay on as assistant?

"Well?"


	5. Chapter 5

**The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Five**

When Quinn informed Kurt of the details of their flight to the UK a week earlier, she had failed to mention one fact: The plane was not a commercial one. His jaw dropped when he caught sight of the white private jet through the window of the terminal, and it didn't close until well after they'd boarded the plane.

By 'they' he meant the five Warblers, Wes, Quinn, and three fourths of the band's security team; Mike, Dean and Noah (who everybody called Puck). Apparently most of the entourage had either already flown out, or only worked for the band State side, and would be replaced by their permanent UK counterparts.

Kurt ignored the amusement in the glances four of the Warblers were giving him (Blaine passed out the moment he sat down). Could they blame him? He'd only ever taken flights from Ohio to New York and back and suddenly he was on a plane with chrome interior paneling, a 40 inch HD television with Xbox One, PlayStation Vita, and even a classic Sega Mega Drive. A disco ball hung from the ceiling, champagne flowed freely, and there was more room to stretch his legs than Kurt had in the living area of his apartment.

It was a far cry from Lima, Ohio, where he'd lived out his first 18 years of life.

Most of the flight was spent watching the band and Puck play Call of Duty, Sonic the Hedgehog and Mario Kart, the boys switching between consoles every hour or so. Kurt took over for Jeff every time he needed a bathroom break, which was a lot with the amount of soda he drank, but mostly he just read from his e-reader. Every time Blaine stirred, Kurt would press a water bottle into his hand, watch him sip at it, smack his lips tiredly, and fall back to sleep. One time he even cradled the bottle into his chest. Kurt had bitten back a laugh at that.

In truth though, he wasn't convinced he was still welcome. What if Blaine had said he wanted him to stay because he was drunk and the moment he sobers, goes back to treating him like a lackey, easily taken advantage of and a potential notch on his belt?

He was supposed to be daydreaming about finally seeing London, not worrying about this.

"Stop babysitting the idiot," Nick said after Blaine passed out again for the ninth time. "He never could hold his drink. That's his problem."

"Said the Irishman who's body is made up of 70 percent Guinness." Jeff sniggered and put on a high voice.

"'Nicky has a temperature, give him some brandy. Can't sleep, Nicky? Mix in some brew with his warm milk'."

"Hey! Me mam's home remedies work better than any of the rubbish yous buy in a pharmacy," Nick rebutted.

"No it's not, you're just too drunk to notice you're still sick," Jeff said.

"She never gave me enough to get drunk, you gob shite. And I'll bloody do you if you keep insulting her methods," Nick warned, eyebrow raised challengingly.

Jeff unbuckled his seat belt and stood up, hands raised in challenge. "Bring it."

Nick lunged, pulling Jeff down to the floor, where the pair rolled around in the gangway.

"Oh... my."

Kurt looked to Wes in alarm, hoping he'd receive some guidance in how to respond to this, but the manager was engrossed in his tablet, typing away. Quinn wasn't bothered either, a roll of her eyes the only indication she'd caught the exchange between the boys.

"They're just playing around, Kurt," Trent said from the seat beside him.

"Oh." Kurt scratched at the back of his neck. "Sorry."

Trent's smile was reassuring. "It's fine. You're not the first to misunderstand, and you won't be the last. I don't know what Americans are like, but on our side of the pond, we're really horrible to our friends and ridiculously polite to the people we hate."

"Why?

"Because we love each other."

"Ah, I see," Kurt said dryly. "Explains a lot."

Trent laughed heartily. "Eh, you'll get used to it. What part tripped you up before?"

"The 'bloody do you' part," Kurt admitted.

"It's just another way to say 'I'll beat you up'," Trent explained, adding at Kurt's alarm, "but it's just play-fighting. See?"

He tilted his head to the floor beneath them, and Kurt watched as Jeff's head popped out from under their seats. Comically gagging, he was pulled under again by Nick's hand at the scruff of his neck. Now he really looked at them, he could see they weren't actually hurting each other.

"Boys," he mumbled.

Trent laughed.

Crossing his legs primly, Kurt's eyes settled back on the boy curled up opposite him. Asleep he appeared younger than his nineteen years, innocent even, not like he had the expectations of a huge fan base, the media, and his record label on his shoulders.

"I take it you two sorted out your differences?" Trent asked quietly.

"Define sorted out?"

Trent rolled his eyes. "Have you kissed and made up? Got it on? Bitten the cherry?"

He aimed a kissy face at Kurt, so the assistant jammed his elbow into the youngest Warbler's side. At eighteen, Trent still maintained a level of baby fat that reduced his assumed age by several years. Looks were deceiving though, and Kurt was determined not to let a kid four years his junior sass him.

"We talked as well as one sober person and a drunken one could," Kurt said vaguely. He sighed and took in the curls tumbling over Blaine's forehead. "I'm not sure I understand him."

"Welcome to Warbler World!" Trent declared. "There's a lot about him we don't understand either, these days."

"He said you guys had a fight," Kurt said in a hushed tone, cautious eyes on Blaine. "That you guys seemed to hate him now. What was the fight about?"

"Trent can you help me break these two idiots up?" David called.

"Yeah, I'll do it now-in-a-minute," Trent said airily, turning back to answer Kurt.

"That makes no sense..." Blaine mumbled, shifting into the fetal position in his seat. "You can either do it now, _or _in a minute, you Welsh weirdo."

Trent got up to poke Blaine in the ribs, before dancing away to help David pull the wrestling duo apart. Had Blaine been awake the entire time? Feeling eyes on him, Kurt met Blaine's tired ones apprehensively. Not knowing what else to do, he raised the water bottle up in offering. Blaine shook his head and closed his eyes again, an uncertain smile upturning his lips.

"No thanks, sexy."

There was no intent behind it. Kurt smiled at the name for the first time, rolled his eyes and pulled his e-reader back out of his satchel.

"… We were fighting about you," Blaine mumbled.

He was snoring before Kurt could think of a response to that.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>The Daily Mail<strong>_

_**Warbler in Underage Drinking Scandal**_

_Lashing out at paparazzi, crude language during interviews, partying until 5am daily, one night stands with celebrity men; these are all allegations which have been held against Blaine Anderson in the last 8 months. And now we can add underage drinking to the list._

_A source has told Entertainment Weekly that the nineteen-year-old lead singer of British boy band The Warblers, was allegedly spotted staggering around the streets of New York in the early hours of Monday. A group of fans who found the Warbler near Central Park tweeted their concern:_

_**BeccaOMGwarbler: **__Think I just saw Blaine_Anderson near Central Park. Even when he's drunk he's hot!_

_**StarGirlToDaRescue: **__Looks like Blaine's been out on the town again. Hope he gets home ok. He seemed lost…_

_Representatives for Anderson have declined to comment on the incident, although his brother Cooper, who is famed for his role in the UK's BT phone commercials (see clip below) has branded the allegations ludicrous. _

"_He's legal here in the UK, so he does drink, but he knows the rules in the US. Cut the kid a break."_

_The source, a taxi driver who claims he drove a close friend of Anderson's during his quest to find the singer, reports the anxious acquaintance found Blaine puking up outside a swanky Manhattan hotel. Perhaps the older Anderson doesn't know his brother that well, after all?_

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><p>"Was that you?" Wes asked.<p>

Kurt looked up from the tablet Wes had handed to him, the article already open on the web browser and ready to read.

Having landed at Heathrow Airport in London in the evening, Kurt had barely settled into his room in the hotel they were staying in for ease of access to the city's center, when he received the call to come talk to Wes in his hotel room.

His heart was pounding in his chest from Wes' scrutiny. He didn't like that tone of voice. Wes was calm, too calm.

"I… Yes," Kurt answered.

Wes gave a curt nod and Kurt squirmed in his seat, not daring to break eye contact. "Did you say Blaine's name at all during your taxi ride?"

"I," Kurt broke off trying to think. "I might have? I think I called him 'Anderson' once and 'Blaine' the rest of the time when I – when I was on the phone with him," he admitted.

Sighing, Wes leaned back in his seat, took his reading glasses away from his nose, and drank deeply from his coffee mug. "For future reference, we would prefer that during any incident of this nature, you exercise more caution with your words and actions," Wes said, returning the mug to a coaster. "We have a whole PR team working hard to maintain the reputation of this band. Months of hard work can be undone with an article like this, especially if the police look into it."

Wes didn't seem cross. More resigned, tired and disappointed. And that made it even worse. He hadn't raised his voice once. Kurt was powerless against the guilt gnawing at his gut, like a hungry piranha.

"Sorry," Kurt said quietly.

He couldn't blame Wes for being mad at him, if truth be told. He should have been more careful. He had signed a damn confidentiality agreement, for goodness sake. Wes had every right to fire him on the spot.

"You're a hard worker Kurt. You're tough. The guys all like you. I don't want to have to let you go, but if repeat incidents happen, I won't have a choice."

There was a rapid knock on the door and it was flung open before Wes could open his mouth to call, 'come in'. Blaine swaggered over the threshold, key card in hand and leaned casually against the wall, eye line naturally falling on Kurt, who was sat in the chair opposite Wes.

Kurt swallowed and turned away from Blaine.

"You wanted to see me?"

Wes didn't even look up from the papers he was shuffling through. "Just don't let it happen again, Kurt. I've taken the liberty of getting you another copy of the confidentiality agreement. I suggest you memorize it to avoid further indiscretion. You may go."

Kurt took the papers and stood up with a nod of understanding.

"What's Kurt done?" Blaine asked, stepping to the side to block Kurt's exit.

"The taxi driver who spoke to the press about Monday morning drove Kurt to find you," Wes informed him. "I was simply reminding Mr. Hummel that he needs to be more discreet in future."

Kurt tried to sidestep Blaine and ignore the sweet smell of his cologne - Lynx, if he wasn't mistaken - but the singer moved the same way, crossed his arms and cocked one of his triangular eyebrows coldly at Wes. "Well, funnily enough indiscretion can be forgiven when your job is on the line."

"Blaine," Kurt warned, eyes wide, head shaken imperceptibly.

"Would you have given much thought to which taxi you used, or what you said in front of the driver, if that _bitch_ you call an assistant had threatened to fire _you _during your first month?" Blaine pressed. "Because I know I wouldn't have."

Wes looked between them in confusion. Kurt closed his eyes and wondered if will power was enough to make his apartment materialize around him, an ocean away from this awkward situation.

"Well, I," Wes stumbled. "If that's true then she had no right to threaten Kurt with a dismissal. I'll get to the bottom of that. Kurt, you may go now. Please shut the door on the way out."

Kurt offered Wes a wan smile and shook his head disbelievingly at Blaine, scooting around him to close the door with a snap. He leaned against it for a few moments to arrange his thoughts in an order he hoped would make sense. They didn't. He was still none the wiser why Blaine was suddenly defending him.

"…Don't fucking blame the new guy for my mistakes then!" Blaine bellowed from behind the door.

Kurt jumped away, hurrying down the corridor.

"AND MAYBE I DON'T WANT TO BE BABYSAT!"

One thing was for sure, Kurt thought. The elevator doors binged closed behind him. Blaine Anderson was a riddle Kurt wasn't sure he _should _decipher.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank you for all the lovely feedback so far! I've read them all and they make me smile. **

**EverybodyWantsABeautifulLove asked if The Warblers resemble One Direction on purpose. My beta reader, LadyFiona89 (who I forgot to credit before. Sorry, Fi!), pointed out the similarity a couple of months ago, but the answer is no. British boybands in the last 20 years have all been very similar: 5 members, the token Irish member, the one who turns out to be gay etc. **I modeled The Warblers after this tried and tested formula.** The difference here is that Blaine is not in the closet. **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Six<strong>

Kurt knew fans could get a little... passionate. He had an internet connection, after all, and saw the way celebrities were treated by fans and trolls online. One of his duties involved scrolling through Blaine, Trent, David, Jeff and Nick's social media accounts, making sure people sending hate to the five of them were blocked.

He realized quickly that even his idea of fanatical was pretty far off the mark though. Canary Records had scheduled the boys for a CD signing at HMV in Oxford Street the Wednesday after the band's return to the UK and, well, the queue mostly consisted of excited teenage girls, middle aged mothers, well dressed teenage boys he suspected were here for Blaine, and the occasional father who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Kurt opened the door that separated the staff rooms from the main shop floor and stared, eyes wide, at the mass of people queuing between the shelves. The buzz of voices like a hive in the summer.

"Crazy, right?" said David, peering over Kurt's shoulder.

A young girl looked past Kurt and screamed when she saw David. The entire room full of fans turned to look too, like they were one entity, screaming and jumping to see what all the fuss was about. Kurt quickly snapped the door shut. The door barely muffled the commotion they'd caused on the other side.

Laughing incredulously Kurt asked, "How the hell are you supposed to get through all of them in two hours?"

"Think of it like a production line," David began, walking back into the staff room with Kurt in tow. "Dean's usually stood behind us telling the stragglers to hurry up. Puck stands at the entrance to the table area, informing fans they can't take pictures with us and when to move forward."

"They can't?"

David settled on a sofa next to Nick. "We want to see all of them, and the powers at be think it slows down the queue too much. Plus, a lot of them use the flash and it stings the eyes after a while," he explained, in a tone that made it quite clear he didn't agree with the ban at all. "It's not fair, but-"

"It is bullshit," Blaine said. He was sat, one leg thrown casually over the other, on the sofa opposite David's.

Kurt cocked his head at him. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing Blaine with his curls loose in the recording studio that he'd forgotten all about the gel that usually slathered them down during official functions. He'd have to have a word with Sugar about gelling techniques, because that amount of grease on the singer's head was unnecessary. He could oil a wok with that. Blaine winked and gestured to the seat beside him, but Kurt was hesitant and eventually perched on the other side of the three seater sofa, legs crossed primly. Blaine's crooked smile fell slightly, but the strum of his fingers against the guitar strings continued.

"We'd stay for four hours if it meant making every fan feel special," said Blaine.

"Don't start..."

"He started five hours ago, Nick," said Jeff.

"The bottom line, gorgeous?" Blaine cut across. "Fans rarely get to take pictures with us unless they've paid for it, or they stumble across us on the street. Every time we've tried to take photos at events like this, we get yelled at afterwards."

"Why?"

Blaine rubbed his fingers together and sang, "Money, money, money, something funny, in a rich man's world!"

Kurt's spine tingled pleasantly, the notes of the song beautiful in Blaine's tenor.

"What did Wes say this time?" Trent asked. He was laid out on the floor, arm over his eyes.

"_Well, if you can somehow acquire a Tardis, Blaine, then by all means throw an all-day signing_," Blaine mimicked Wes' watered down, but still distinctive Yorkshire accent.

"Doctor Who!" Kurt blurted out.

All five Warblers, Puck, Dean, Quinn and several other staff members looked up at that.

Kurt blushed. "Sorry, I, I understood that reference."

Blaine bit his lip and looked down at his guitar, unable to hide a little smile.

"You're up guys!" Wes clapped his hands together and walked through the door. "Dean, Puck to your places. Blaine, you're on the end, then Nick, Jeff, Trent and David. Come on, chop chop!"

"Why is Wes the only one handling today?" Kurt muttered in Nick's ear. "I thought PR reps did this too?"

"We're currently 'between reps'," he whispered back. "There was a major disagreement about two weeks before you arrived."

Kurt didn't have time to respond because the door swung open. It was cacophony when the boys walked out in single file, fans screaming, signs waving, staff trying to keep control. Kurt would have taken a moment to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of preteen girls in the room, had he not been determined to ignore Quinn's signal for him to follow her. Walking purposely over to the front of the queue, he waited alongside Puck for the press photos to be taken, and turned to the first fans Puck let through into the table area. He raised a challenging eyebrow at the bodyguard and smiled politely at the nervous teenage girl and her mother.

"Hi there, you're not allowed to take photos with the boys, but if you give me your camera, _I'll_ take a picture of you meeting them and give it back to you. As a keepsake," Kurt said.

Puck opened his mouth to protest, but then smirked and dipped his head in acknowledgement as the mother handed her camera to Kurt. "You've got balls, kid," he whispered darkly in Kurt's ear. "If Wes asks, this was all you."

"Deal," Kurt called over his shoulder. He reached the signing table just as the girl was acknowledged by Blaine.

"Hi sweetheart, what's your name?" Blaine asked, wide toothy smile reaching his eyes for once.

"Gemma," the girl said bashfully and handed her copy of the new album to Blaine.

Snapping a quick photo, Kurt grinned at the confused furrow of Blaine's eyebrows, momentarily surprised by the bright light from the camera. Kurt mouthed an apology and turned the flash setting off, but Blaine didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, his mouth formed a wondering O, and Kurt had to focus back on the camera screen to hide how pleased he was to have provoked such a grateful warmth in Blaine's twinkly, hazel eyes.

Blaine signed a message for Gemma, handed the CD back to her, allowing time for Kurt to snap a better photo, and mouthed a 'thank you' after Kurt had given the camera back to the mother. Kurt winked in response and strolled back to Puck.

"Hi girls, do you have cameras? I can take a quick photo of you guys at the table?"

The three friends at the front of the queue squealed excitedly, declaring their favorites at the same time.

"Woah, woah, slow down, ladies, one at a time," Kurt cried with an overwhelmed laugh.

"Turn the flash off, Hummel," Puck said.

For the next hour he fell into a routine: Ask for camera, turn flash off, snap photo, and hand back to owner.

It was tiring, running back and forth between the table and the queue, but the elation in the eyes of the fans who had expected to have no photographic evidence of meeting The Warblers that day, made it well worth the effort. The boys soon gave up on formalities at the table and started posing for Kurt deliberately.

At one point he saw Wes shaking his head at him, but he had a small smile playing at his lips, so Kurt took that as a sign he wasn't in any trouble.

It was fascinating watching how the guys interacted with each of their fans. Jeff was the most outgoing of the Warblers. David apparently had a reputation for fist bumps because almost every fan wanted one. Everyone wanted Nick and Trent to speak because they loved their accents. And as for Blaine, he was a hugger. He hugged each and every girl and boy who asked, even when Dean was telling them to move along. It was a softer side to the singer Kurt hadn't seen before. He liked this version of Blaine.

Finally the guys took a ten minute break to rest their hands (and smiles) and Kurt walked through to the back again, only to be yanked into the staff room by Quinn.

"Were you told to go and play photographer, fancy?"

"I – no, but-"

"I have 24 jobs for you to do, half of which you could have done by now, if you hadn't decided you're too good for them," Quinn snarled. "Go do something _useful_ and buy coffee for those of us who are actually working hard at the _right_tasks!" She thrust a list of coffee orders at him.

"Piss off, Quinn, we asked him to do it," Blaine snapped from the doorway.

The other Warblers filed in from behind him.

"Last we checked he was our assistant, not yours, angel," Nick agreed.

"Wes said-"

"Wes saw him doing it. He could have ordered Kurt to go do something else at any time," Blaine pointed out. "And you just want him to do the 24 jobs you can't be _bothered_ to do, because the stick up your arse is too firmly wedged now for you to realize: You. Are. Not. That. Important."

Her answering scowl was so venomous it could have sent a seven foot wrestler to his knees, but she seemed to decide this was one battle she wasn't going to win. Blonde ponytail flicking to the side, she turned to Kurt. "Go and get the coffee. You can carry on being incompetent when you get back."

She pushed Blaine into the staff room door and stormed back into the corridor, an awkward silence prevailing in her wake.

"Well, that was fun." Nick turned to Kurt. "Good thinking on the picture front."

Kurt shrugged bashfully. "You said you guys and the fans weren't allowed to take photos, you didn't say members of the team couldn't."

"I feel really stupid for not coming up with that," Jeff agreed.

"That's because you _are_ stupid," Trent quipped. He bolted out the door and down the corridor with Jeff in pursuit.

"Thanks, Kurt," Blaine whispered in Kurt's ear. His breath was warm. Goosebumps sprouted across the back of Kurt's neck and shivered down his spine.

"You're welcome," he replied.

"Look, I, I know we haven't exactly hit it off," Blaine said, scratching the back of his neck, "but we've got a day off on Friday and I know you haven't seen the city yet. If incognito is possible for me, I can show you around? As a friendship gesture, I'm not coming on to you, I swear."

David raised his eyebrows at that.

Kurt pondered this. He wasn't entirely comforted by Blaine's last words, but he couldn't deny the hope for an opportunity to put the weirdness behind them. And if Blaine did try anything, there was always that defense maneuver his dad insisted he move to New York knowing four years ago.

"... Just a friendship gesture?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in Jeff's eye."

"Oi!"

Kurt laughed when Jeff flew past the staff room with Trent in close pursuit, the tables apparently turned on him.

"Okay, you've got yourself a deal, Blainers."

Blaine wrinkled his nose at the name. "Go and get coffee, sexy."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading and reviewing so far. Your comments are lovely to read and I hope the rest of the story lives up to your expectation.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Seven<strong>

He's not coming. Kurt tapped his foot against the marble floor of the hotel lobby and cursed when his watch switched to the next minute. They'd agreed the night before to meet in the lobby at 8.30am, but being wise to Blaine's sleeping patterns, Kurt had arisen early and gone up to his suite door to make sure Blaine was up. When there had been no answer, he'd shrugged it off and chosen to give him the benefit of the doubt.

09:03am.

Kurt tapped his phone against his bottom lip and decided to call him, seeing as he wasn't answering his text messages

'_The mobile phone you have called, is switched off,'_ said a computerized English woman's voice.

Was this a joke? Had he been pretending to be nice to Kurt to trick him into thinking they were friends. Was Blaine going to stand him up, then jump out and laugh in Kurt's face? He shook the thought away; for all of Blaine's faults, he wasn't a vindictive person. Unless you counted the first month of stupid demands, but Kurt had moved past that.

There was a commotion at the front door of the lobby, and a pair of loafers skidded to a halt in front of Kurt. He could only gawp as Blaine clung to his own knees, panting. His shoelaces were clumsily tied, tight black dress shirt half buttoned, creased, and clinging damply to his torso.

The lobby felt a little warm all of a sudden.

"Kurt, I'm so sorry -" Blaine gasped, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with his sleeve. "I was out. And then my phone died so my alarm didn't go off... I'll be ten minutes, I promise. I just need to shower and throw some clothes on, I'll be back-"

And then he was gone before Kurt could as much as greet him. True to his word, Blaine jogged back towards him from the staircase ten minutes later.

"Sorry. Sorry, I'm such an idiot. Were you waiting long? Wow, I guess you dress that way even on days off, huh?" said Blaine, hand dragging through his bangs.

Kurt looked him up and down. Blaine had changed into a pair of loosely fitting jeans, a dark blue Dalton Academy sweatshirt with the hood up over his head and converse on his feet, in complete contrast to the tight black jeans, knee-high boots, and over-large sweater Kurt had chosen for under his trench coat. Entirely different from the preppy attire Blaine wore on stage, and the tight jeans and leather jacket he seemed fond of in his down time.

"What?"

"That's a… interesting choice of clothing," Kurt blurted out.

Blaine peeked around the hotel lobby and let his hood down, exposing his dark hair. The damp curls had extra bounce today. If only Kurt could touch them without seeming creepy.

"I'm trying to remain inconspicuous. How bad is it? I only walk around like this when I don't want to be recognized, but, well, it's London. There's a lot of opportunity for exposure."

"It's not bad…" Kurt trailed off, because in all honesty it wasn't. He suspected the handsome bastard could pull off _sweatpants_ and hooded sweatshirts without looking like a slob. "It's just different. Where were you anyway? I thought you were staying here too? Did you go home?"

Where exactly did Blaine live? Kurt had never been asked to collect the mail from Blaine's residence, not like he did for David, Nick and Jeff. Did he even have a home, or did he prefer to live out of a suitcase?

"I was around," said Blaine tightly.

"Around?"

"Yes." Kurt stared him down. "Okay, so maybe I went out last night to let my hair down a little-"

"-And you found another notch for your belt. Got it," Kurt finished.

Blaine's lips thinned in irritation. "I don't only go out with the intention of getting laid."

"Were you this time?"

"Well... I didn't go _looking _for it, it just kinda'..."

"Uh huh."

"Shut up," Blaine said with an eye roll. "Do you wanna' go play tourist or not? Because I warn you now, I might be a rubbish tour guide."

"_Rubbish_," Kurt repeated under his breath, testing it on his lips. "If I'm not satisfied I'll get a refund."

"Very good then, onward and upwards, dear fellow." Blaine lifted his chin and walked off.

* * *

><p>Two hours later Kurt decided Blaine was a liar. He was actually a very good tour guide, and as a first day off since this whole adventure started for him, the bar for future excursions was set pretty high. Blaine gave Kurt a list of all the tourist attractions he'd been able to think of off the top of his head, and allowed him to choose which ones they went to and when.<p>

"Buckingham Palace," said Kurt immediately.

"Ah, now I would agree with you, but if we go a little later you'll get to see the guard swap shifts," Blaine countered.

"You get to see that?"

"Yep, we can go there now and hang around if you want, or..." Blaine tapped at the map on his iPhone, "we could take a look at Hyde Park first. It's right next door."

"You're the Londoner," said Kurt.

Kurt followed him into the nearest tube station, Blaine earning himself an elbow to the ribs, when he teased Kurt for referring to it as 'the subway'.

"Subway is a sandwich shop, Kurt."

"Ha-ha," Kurt deadpanned.

The park was stunning in early spring, daffodils trumpeting to the nation that the winter months were finally coming to an end. Not all of the trees were blooming and budding yet, but greenery was plentiful and Kurt didn't even mind when a tiny patter of rain drops fell on them, too busy enjoying the fresh smells and sights around him; the sloping lawns, Serpentine Lake and pretty pathways through the undergrowth.

"I think I prefer this to Central Park," Kurt admitted.

"Oh, I don't know, Central Park has its perks," Blaine said, smiling as a dad lifted a toy boat into the lake and helped his son, who looked no older than three, to push the buttons on the remote control. "I'm more likely to be spotted there than here though. It's weird. Even though I'm here more often, Londoners just couldn't care less and usually leave us alone. In New York all it takes is one screaming girl and you're surrounded."

"Maybe it feels like more of a novelty for New Yorkers, because you're British?" Kurt pondered.

"Hmm, maybe. If we leave now we'll make it just in time for the guard switch over."

They made it to Buckingham Palace with minutes to spare, locating the roped off area outside the gates where tourists were welcome to watch from. Blaine adjusted his hood, flattening it down and pulled Kurt through the throngs of tourists by the material of his coat. Eventually they found a break in the crowd near the gates that blocked the public from entering the main grounds of the palace. From here they had a perfect view of the Queen's Guard. Dressed smartly in their signature red uniforms, tall bearskin caps fastened securely on their heads, they were stationed at key vantage points all over the grounds, clearly to better enable them to protect the sovereign. Some were on foot, and others were astride regal horses, but they all carried long black rifles under their arm.

The clock struck 11am and Kurt beamed around him giddily when the changeover began, ignoring the little smirk Blaine was trying his best to hide. Kurt was witnessing a royal ceremonial tradition with his own eyes. Nine-year-old Kurt Hummel, sat in his room hosting royal tea parties for his stuffed animals, would have pee'd himself with excitement if he'd known he would get to see this in person thirteen years on. Kurt was going to relish the experience.

The guards who had been on duty moved through their rehearsed formation with practiced ease for the next half an hour, trumpets squealing, feet stomping to the beat of the drums. It was equal parts intimidating and mesmerizing to watch. Then they lifted their guns onto their shoulders and turned to march away, only to be replaced by another section of the Queen's Guard, who took up their vacated positions and stood to attention. Silence fell over the palace once more and the crowd cheered for the last time.

Kurt had the urge to send the video he'd recorded of the spectacle to all of the former New Directions with the caption: _'We never nailed a routine like this'_.

"Do they really never smile?" Kurt asked, once the crowds began to disperse.

"I've never seen it. They only move if you are a possible threat," Blaine explained.

Kurt watched a group of Japanese tourists pull silly faces at the nearest guard to take up his position. Not once did the guard's mouth even twitch.

"The Queen's home, you know."

"How can you tell?" Kurt asked.

"The Royal Standard." Blaine nodded up at the flag pole. "That's her official flag, it flies when she's home. The rest of the time they fly the Union Flag. Look, see."

Sure enough a flag Kurt wasn't familiar with was flapping in the wind above the palace. He felt a rush knowing he was so close to the Queen of England. What was she doing right now?

"I've always wanted to come here," Kurt admitted. "Here and Windsor Castle."

"Royal residences, huh?" Blaine said thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll take you to Hampton Court sometime. The Tudors lived there. And if you're not squeamish, the Tower of London's always a good visit."

* * *

><p>Eventually the rumble of his stomach became loud and embarrassing, so Blaine led the way back to the nearest tube station. It was just past midday when Kurt found himself walking through Leicester Square, taking in the spot where most of the major UK film premieres took place. Which was unsurprising because there were three different cinema chains dotted around the Square itself. Blaine joined a queue for the <em>Häagen<em>-_Dazs_ cafe.

Kurt checked around them uneasily. Blaine's hood was up over his curls again but the square was heaving with tourists. "Are you sure you should be somewhere this crowded?" he whispered.

Blaine's smile was easy. "I'm trying another new thing where I hide in plain sight," he revealed. "We'll see how it pans out. Hey, relax, I wasn't approached once at Buckingham Palace, right?"

"Okay," Kurt acquiesced, unconvinced and sure Blaine was asking for trouble. "I thought we were getting lunch?"

"We are."

"Ice cream does not count as lunch, Blaine."

"Of course it does!" Blaine cried good-naturedly. "The ice cream is immense here, and you can have whatever you like. It's on me. I was late, it's the least I can do."

Kurt pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Okay, but serious question: Can we go into MnMs World afterwards?"

Blaine cracked up laughing. "Yes! I was trying to think up a way to drag you in."

Eventually a waitress seated them on the top floor, after a tense moment of recognition that left Kurt biting back an 'I told you so'. Luckily the table she chose was tucked away in a corner, so they could hang out relatively unobserved. Once the waitress had taken their ice cream and drinks orders, they chatted amiably while they waited, Kurt marveling at just how easy it was to talk to Blaine like this, when no one they knew was around.

"Tell me something I don't know," said Kurt.

Blaine pondered a moment. "Did you know that Hitler was actually Austrian?"

"About you, dummy."

"Well, you didn't specify," Blaine reasoned, hands up in surrender. Kurt kicked him under the table. "Okay, okay, let's see. I hate peas. Your turn."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fine, don't play... I looked you up on Wikipedia but there's nothing specific about where you're from or anything."

"Ah, that's because my family moved around a lot. Dad used to be a pilot, but for the last eleven years he's been training up new pilots all over the world. Mum and I were dragged from London to Glasgow, Glasgow to Los Angeles, over to France for six months and a brief period in Australia," Blaine admitted. "Eventually Mum insisted it wasn't healthy for me to be moved around all the time, so they shoved me in Dalton Academy when he took a job in Italy. Dalton is where all the Eton rejects go. Cooper – that's my brother – he'd already run off to pursue acting, so it was just me."

"Where were you born, then?"

"London, but I lived the first few years of my life in Surrey when dad was flying from Heathrow airport. Surrey is the county Harry Potter grew up in," he added at Kurt's questioning brow. "We still have a house there, and I used to spend the holidays there when school was shut. What about you, where are you from?"

"Ohio. I lived in Lima until I was eighteen and moved to New York with my best friend, Rachel."

"Rachel? That's the shrill one I can sometimes hear in the background when you call, right?" Kurt nodded with a grin. He couldn't wait to drop that bombshell on Rachel. "So did you work, go to college, or what?"

"I interned at Vogue, initially. And then went on to study at NYADA. I just graduated."

"Wait, wait, if you're a NYADA graduate _and_ a former intern at Vogue; what the hell are you doing picking up our dry cleaning?"

Shrugging, Kurt replied, "I guess, somewhere along the line I stopped wanting to be on stage. I always dreamed of Broadway but there just aren't roles for people with my range. I was a flying monkey and in the chorus in Wicked, but only because Rachel suggested me as an emergency replacement when a guy was injured. She was playing Nessa Rose at the time. Afterwards there was an off-off-off Broadway production of Romeo and Juliet set in a space station, but it didn't pay well."

"A space station?"

"Don't ask." Kurt chuffed a laugh. "Anyway, I had to figure out a back-up plan. Isabelle, she was my boss at Vogue, she kept me on while I looked around for another job, but there just weren't any permanent positions available when I graduated, only part-time. She gave one hell of a reference though."

Blaine cocked his head to the side, amber eyes twinkling in interest. Kurt colored at the scrutiny. He was so used to Blaine's flirtatious detachment and hedging, that the attention was a little uncomfortable, self-conscious.

"And the new plan is?" Blaine pressed.

"I'll let you know when I work it out. What about you? Was being in a boy band always the plan?"

"No, not exactly. I always wanted to play music, write it, record it, play in pubs and busk for change, that sort of thing." Blaine smiled wistfully. "The Warblers were Dalton's a capella choir. A talent scout from Britain's Got Talent was in the audience at a competition we won and suggested we audition for the show."

"I thought shows like Got Talent and Idol were supposed to be open call?"

Blaine grimaced. "Yeah, that's not entirely how it works. They send out talent scouts to make sure there are decent and entertaining acts on each year. A lot of people who aren't invited by someone within the show, don't even get past the producers. They decide if you're good enough to audition for the judges and live audience."

"Not so reality TV?" said Kurt dryly.

"Sorry to ruin the magic," said Blaine with a sheepish grin. "Wes was totally against the idea of course, mainly because he was studying for five A Levels at the time."

"What's an A Level?" Kurt asked.

"It's an academic qualification we study for over here from ages sixteen to eighteen," Blaine elaborated. "Wes was taking his in five subjects so he was really overworked at the time, but we voted on it and went along to the audition. We were only the runner up that year and none of us expected to be approached by a record company. We just performed for the fun of it and auditioned for Got Talent in our school uniforms." He chuckled at the memory.

"Everyone loves a uniform," Kurt reminded him.

"School uniforms are mandatory over here. They're not the novelty your lot sees them as," Blaine teased. "The only reason we blew up is because the girls in America wet themselves over the uniforms." Blaine wrinkled his nose at that and Kurt had to laugh. The female attention must be heaven for David, Nick and Jeff – Blaine and Trent (Kurt suspects), not so much.

"Anyway, it all happened kind of fast," Blaine continued. "Most of the guys decided they didn't want the fame, and Wes agreed to manage us once his exams were over, so our twelve piece choir became the five of us."

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah, I love it," Blaine admitted. "Not all of it, but I love our fans, I love performing. I love the rush of feedback from the audience. It's the bullshit behind the scenes I'm not so fond of."

Their ice cream arrived before Kurt could respond, so he dipped his spoon in his bowl instead. "Oh my god!" Kurt moaned. "This is so good."

Blaine bit his lip and spooned a hefty amount of ice cream into his mouth, suddenly very interested in his own bowl.

The rest of the day was spent chattering about lighter topics as they traveled from destination to destination: Big Ben to St Paul's Cathedral, the West End theater district to Harrods. They hadn't touched the surface of all the places Kurt wanted to see, but something told him he'd have time to look. Not that day, but another certainly.

As for Blaine, well, perhaps they could be friends after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: There's a blink and you'll miss it mention of Finn in this chapter. I probably should have raised this earlier: I started writing this before Cory, and I didn't have the heart to write Finn out like canon had to. He's barely mentioned in later chapters, but just in case it is an issue for anyone.**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler Is a Tramp - Chapter Eight<strong>

**KaseyWarbling:** That moment you bump into Blaine_Anderson in MnMs World and enter the afterlife!

**Jeff2MyNick:** KaseyWarbling OMG SERIOUSLY? Where was this? Was he with anyone? DETAILS WOMAN!

**KaseyWarbling:** Jeff2MyNick LOL! It was in Leicester Square. He was with a friend.

**BlainersGurl34:** KaseyWarbler Pictures or it didn't happen!

**WatTheWarbler:** KaseyWarbling Jeff2MyNick was it a guy? Wat did he look like?

**KaseyWarbling:** WatTheWarbler Jeff2MyNick Brown hair, tall, pale, American. Wore a trench coat and knee high boots. They were looking at novelty MnM shot glasses.

**Dina4Lyfe:** KaseyWarbling WatTheWarbler Jeff2MyNick sounds like that guy who was taking pictures at the CD signing the other day…

**Jeff2MyNick:** KaseyWarbling WatTheWarbler Dina4Lyfe OMG do u think they're dating?!

**KaseyWarbling: ** Jeff2MyNick WatTheWarbler Dina4Lyfe I didn't get a couple vibe from them… he's probably their assistant or something.

**WatTheWarbler:** KaseyWarbling Jeff2MyNick Dina4Lyfe Uh oh! I've got smutty Blaine seducing his PA feels now!

**Jeff2MyNick:** WatTheWarbler KaseyWarbling Dina4Lyfe SOMEONE WRITE THIS! If you include kinky MnM shot glass antics I will love you forever!

**Dina4Lyfe:** Jeff2MyNick Done ;)

* * *

><p><em>"Kurt, is that you?"<em>

Kurt hummed happily at the sound of his dad's voice for the first time in weeks. The one thing he hated about being out of the country, was the lack of interaction with his dad. Neither of them could afford to stay on the line for long, and while Kurt would argue his independence until he was blue in the face, he'd always want a regular line of communication with his father.

"Dad, you have caller ID, you know it's me."

_"Well, you told me those Warbler guys were pranksters. Can't be too careful. And no one calls at this time of night," _Burt reasoned.

Kurt checked the time and realized it was just after midnight in Ohio. "Sorry, I didn't think."

_"No worries, buddy. Anytime you wanna' call, you can. So, what's up, you homesick?"_

"A little," Kurt admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I love it here. It's just hard work. The hours can be quite long, and the boys really are mischievous."

Kurt chuckled. The day before he'd awoken to five Warblers jumping him in his hotel room. How they'd acquired a key card for his room was a mystery to him, and the fact he'd stashed his boyfriend pillow out of sight before they got a good look at it, was a miracle.

"It's worth the lack of sleep and aggravation, I guess," he continued.

_"What about that Blaine guy? He giving you a hard time?"_

Sighing, Kurt rubbed over his bedhead and thought on how to answer. He wished he hadn't mentioned Wes' warnings to his dad. "Honestly? He's actually a really nice guy. I mean, we didn't hit it off at first, but, we talked it out and... I guess I could call us friends."

_"You don't sound too convinced of that?"_

"No, I am," Kurt assured him. "I just..."

_"Uh oh."_

"Uh oh?"

_"Don't go there."_

"Go where...? DAD! It's not like that!" Kurt squawked.

_"It isn't?" _Burt said doubtfully_. "He's a good looking guy, Kurt. And I looked him up on the internet. He's starting to rival Clooney for notches on his bedpost. There must be something charming about him for that to happen. You always did fall fast and hard."_

"I do n-"

_"Exhibit A: Your stepbrother."_

"I was sixteen!" Kurt moaned. "I was young, naive and misguided. I'm an adult now. I've had enough experience rebuffing predatory men, to know how to defend myself against _Blaine_!"

_"Too much information," _Burt said with a sigh._ "Feelings ain't always logical, Kurt, and I just wanna' make sure you remember what I told ya' back in high school."_

"I know, I know!" Kurt snapped. "I matter. Don't throw myself around. Of course I remember, Dad, it was one of the most traumatizing conversations of my life."

A knock on his hotel room door interrupted his tirade. Kurt checked himself in the mirror on the way to answer, phone against his ear.

"Anyway, even if I did like Blaine, Wes said I'm not allowed to date him."

Kurt swung the door open and froze. Blaine was stood on the other side, a cup of coffee in one hand, hazel eyes wide with surprise.

"…Dad, I have to get ready for work. I'll call you later when it's a better time for you." He ended the call before his dad could respond and rested the phone on his chin awkwardly, fidgeting with his pajama pants and flattening his hair with the other hand. "Erm, hi?"

"I brought you some coffee," Blaine mumbled and held a cardboard cup out to him. "Figured it might be nice for one of us to get _you_ coffee for once... I- bye."

"Blaine, wait." Blaine stopped with his back to Kurt, fists clenched awkwardly at his sides. "Thank you for the coffee. That was really sweet of you," said Kurt.

He wished a train or something equally distracting would run by and break the tension.

"You're welcome. It's a non-fat mocha. I - I heard you say you liked it." Blaine shrugged, smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and headed towards the elevator.

Kurt closed his door with a snap and banged his head on the wood once, only for it to be answered by a frantic _knock-knock-knock-knock_ from the other side. Kurt turned the doorknob and Blaine brushed through, facing Kurt, arms folded like a shield against his chest.

"I didn't mean to hear you, but..." Blaine cut off, eyes closed, stealing himself for his next words. "What did you mean when you said you're not allowed to date me?"

Kurt's mouth opened and closed on its hinge. "I -"

"What did Wes do?"

"It's in my contract," Kurt admitted. "I signed a contract that says my employment will be terminated immediately if I have any kind of relations, besides friendship, with you. Or anyone in the band, I guess."

"Right. Figures," Blaine said, the flare of his nostrils giving away his irritation. "So if I were to... what can't I do?"

"...Kiss me, ask me out, sleep with me - anything that isn't platonic. If I let it happen and anyone found out, I'd be gone."

Blaine ran his hands through his hair, clenched and unclenched his fists, scrubbed his hands up and down his face and looked up at the ceiling. "So why wasn't I told?" he asked. "If I could have accidentally caused you to get fired, how come no one told me?"

"I honestly don't know," said Kurt. "I thought Wes would have mentioned it..."

"Well, he fucking didn't," snapped Blaine. Kurt took a step back, stung by the venom in his voice, but Blaine reached out for his arm, eyes wide and panicked. "No, no, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you. Wes. I'm mad- how could he not tell me? Surely that's- I…"

Looking down at the non-fat mocha swilling around in the cardboard cup clasped in his hands, Kurt took a sip, head tilted in thought. For there to be a clause prohibiting Kurt from pursuing relations with members of the band in his contract, there had to be something similar written into their contracts too. Right? From his first day of employment, Kurt had been under the impression Blaine simply didn't care about breaking the rules, but now? Was it possible he hadn't read his contract properly before signing? Had he asked an independent lawyer to do it for him, and allowed any mention of employer/employee relations to go over his head? HR had been pretty damn thorough when Kurt was employed, surely they had brought it up with the guys?

"Blaine, I- did you ever have, like, a Saturday job before the band?"

"Huh? No, why?"

Kurt puffed a long, tired breath. Could he really be this naive? "Blaine, most employers advise against employer-employee relationships. It's not unusual for there to be stipulations in place."

"I..." Blaine tilted his head, genuinely nonplussed. "Really?"

"… Yeah. It's kinda' common knowledge…"

"Oh." Blaine cupped his nose with his hands, Kurt's words seeming to connect some dots in his head. When he spun to face Kurt with a question, his amber eyes were wide, stormy and fearful. "But I've fooled around with members of our team, people at Canary Records, back-up dancers. I... Kurt, h-have I been getting people fired?"

Oh god, he genuinely is this naive. Kurt knew Blaine – and the others to an extent – were inside a bubble, but he hadn't anticipated it being _this_ thick.

"I don't know, Blaine. I haven't been here all that long," Kurt said carefully. He stepped towards him like a vet approaching a distressed swan. "Some people could have been let go, if what you were doing with them was affecting their work."

Immediately Kurt wished he could take the words back. Blaine's face crumpled faster than paper. Kurt felt a sudden desire to hug the poor boy, anything to erase the utter misery etched into every line of his handsome face, like Blaine was personally responsible for the drowning of a litter of puppies.

He had never seen him look so young before.

"I just assumed they wanted to get away from me," Blaine moaned into his hands. "It never occurred to me they weren't given the choice. Fuck! Why has he never sai- why did he let me throw mys- why does he think he can control me like…?"

Kurt sensed the questions were rhetorical and stayed silent. Not that he could have added anything insightful to make him feel better. He suspected the words: 'Maybe he did and you didn't listen,' wouldn't go over well.

No, there was complication in this situation he would do well to steer clear of.

"I... have to go," said Blaine.

"Blaine, I'm sorry," said Kurt, because he was. Remorse sat heavily in his gut.

Blaine dipped his chin to his chest and sighed. "Don't be. It's not you."

He closed the door with a snap, leaving Kurt anxious and illogically upset.

_'Feelings ain't always logical, Kurt.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Jeff (06:55): Hey, so you know how you said we have to be in the lobby at 7? Going to be late. <strong>

Kurt had officially been the Warblers assistant for two whole months as of yesterday. After three weeks in London with more work than play and even fewer phone calls home, Kurt did not need any of their bullshit. He was tired. Homesick. He cried when Santana phoned threatening to decapitate Rachel.

_"What the fuck is with the sobs, Lady Face?"_

"I'm just happy to hear your drama," Kurt choked out.

_"I always knew you were a psycho," _Santana muttered.

**Kurt (06:56): Someone better be dying. Details?**

Signaling to David (the most awake of the four lounging around the lobby) that he was headed upstairs, the doors to the elevator shut behind him and he pressed the button for Jeff's floor.

**Jeff (06:58): Funny story. I have a girl in my room. She refuses to leave.**

Ah. Kurt dialed the number for the reception desk.

"Yeah, hi, there's a problem in Suite 706B. A girl is in Mr. Sterling's room and refuses to leave," Kurt said to the receptionist who answered.

_"Security will be up immediately."_

"Thanks." He hung up, shot a text off to Puck and checked Jeff's response as the door slid open revealing the seventh floor.

**Jeff (07:00): She's a fan**

**Kurt (07:01): You. Slept. With. A. Fan?!**

**Jeff: (07:02): ...technically no sleeping occurred. Just get up here please. I'm scared. **

Kurt paused outside Jeff's room, key card hovering over the lock and braced himself for whatever was about to happen.

Crash! A small object impacted with the wall the moment the door opened. Kurt yelped and held the door in front of him like a shield. Jeff's iPhone lay broken into several pieces on the floor by Kurt's feet. Peeking around the door, he deduced that the red haired girl hovering over Jeff on the bed, had realized he was texting for help and snatched it from him.

Jeff, who had one hand handcuffed to the bed… and was naked.

Had the situation not been so serious, Kurt's first instinct would have been to laugh. As it happens, the girl threw Kurt a dirty look and said, "Wrong room."

"No, not wrong room. Not wrong room!" Jeff whimpered, pulling at the handcuffs.

"Okay, GET OUT!" Kurt snarled.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Your worst nightmare if you don't get the hell off my friend. Get. Out."

"He invited me."

"You're uninvited."

"Kurt, call security," Jeff moaned.

"I already did that." Kurt took three large strides towards the girl - thankful she was wearing more than Jeff - and scooped her clothes up from the floor. "I suggest you get dressed if you don't want to be escorted from the hotel in your underwear."

The girl's answering scowl was ice cold as she scrambled to pull her dress and shoes back on. And she was decent not a moment too soon; the door burst open to reveal Puck in the entryway, flanked by two hotel security officers. Before they could pull her out of the door though, Kurt turned her to face him.

"Where's the key for the handcuffs?"

The girl seemed to realize she'd lost this battle because she dug around and produced it from her cleavage. "I love you!" she sobbed in Jeff's direction. Puck eyed Jeff up in amusement before the door slammed shut behind him. Jeff grimaced.

Now there was nothing to preoccupy him, Kurt was suddenly very aware of the state Jeff was in. Handcuffed. Naked. Lipstick all over his face and abdomen. He averted his eyes and barely contained an uncomfortable snort over this bizarre turn of events.

"Okay," Kurt was fascinated by the swirls in the ceiling, "first things first, did she hurt you?"

Jeff shook his head.

"So, she didn't do anything without your consent?"

"No, you stopped that from happening," Jeff said meekly. "Thanks Kurt."

"Okay, good. Good. I'm going to uh..." Kurt twirled the key around his finger, a blush tingeing his cheeks. "I'll sort everything. And I'll be back to uh, to free you."

"What? _Kurt_!"

Kurt slammed the door behind him and leaned against the corridor wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He wasn't attracted to Jeff in that way, but _god_ he was only human. Could he get close enough to unlock the handcuffs without it becoming very, very awkward very quickly? Sure, Jeff wasn't homophobic, but he'd tease Kurt every day for the rest of his life if he caught even a glimpse of a physical reaction.

Shoulders shaking with silent laughter – had he been five years younger he wouldn't have even made it out of the room! – he eventually, when composure returned, sent out a mass text with one hand before the overwhelming urge to giggle consumed him.

**Blaine/David/Nick/Trent (07:09): Jeff was tied to bed by fan. Gonna be a little late leaving.**

On second thoughts, perhaps he shouldn't have supplied them with the reason. There was no way they wouldn't come see this for themselves. He bit his lip guiltily and dialed Quinn's number to inform her of the incident. Kurt was still crouched by the door, phone to his ear, when all four band members skidded to a halt beside him.

"You'll have to see it, to believe it," said Kurt. He dropped the handcuff and spare key card into David's hand. "We're leaving in 20 minutes so unlock him and pack up all your stuff before heading down. Quinn says we're switching hotels."

The four entered the hotel room and Kurt left them to it, grinning from ear to ear at the barely muffled woops and shouts behind the closed door. Kurt had a hotel transfer to organize and a full day to re-arrange.

* * *

><p>"Yes, that must be extremely irritating for you, Mr. Waters, but that doesn't change the fact that Mr. Duvall is currently unavailable."<p>

Leaning against the wall outside a Soho recording studio, Nick's phone pressed to his ear, Kurt aimed a wink at Jeff as he returned from lunch. The band had been stowed away in Central London for four days, laying tracks down for their third album, and his friend was no closer to forgiving Kurt for the handcuff incident. Jeff lifted his index and middle fingers to his eyes, directed them at Kurt's own warningly, and slipped back into the studio without a word.

Kurt shook his head, unable to contain a small smile.

"Hey, Kurt!"

Kurt held his hand up to silence Blaine a moment. "I'd be happy to take a message on your behalf," Kurt continued to Mr. Waters on the phone.

"_Unacceptable!" _Mr. Waters thundered. _"This is the fifth time I've tried to get in contact with this asshole and every single time I've been told the exact same thing. HE NEVER GETS BACK TO ME!"_

Kurt winced and held the phone away from his ear a moment. "Well, unfortunately I don't have the power to force him. I can relay messages, but I don't have any further say in what Mr. Duvall does, sir. It's up to him whether or not he calls you back."

"_Don't get smart with me, you useless sack of shit!"_

Blaine tried to snatch the phone from Kurt, but he skipped away before he got close. "That's it, insult me. That'll make me more willing to help you out," said Kurt sarcastically, examining his cuticles. "Please relay your message so I can pass it on to Mr. Duvall."

"Forget it!"

The line went dead. Kurt pocketed the phone and turned back to Blaine.

"What can I do you for, Mr. Anderson?"

Blaine raised his eyebrows. "What can I _do_ you for?"

Oh my god! Heat rose to Kurt's cheeks and spread to the tips of his ears. "I meant – no I – what can I do _for_ you? Oh no, not – not that…"

Chuckling, Blaine rested his hands on Kurt's shoulders. "Relax, hot stuff, you're fine. I mean, I - Kurt. You're okay, Kurt," Blaine said, dropping his hands hastily.

Kurt grimaced awkwardly. Blaine had been treading carefully with every word he said to Kurt, every slip up. And oddly, Kurt was hating every moment. The worst part of the situation though, was that the entire entourage had been gossiping about it behind their backs, ever since an intern had overheard Blaine and Wes screaming at one another over the issue for a solid 20 minutes in the Canary Records third floor conference room.

"The next time you inadvertently cause me to think about sex though, I will not be held responsible for the crudeness that comes out of my mouth," Blaine said, the ghost of his old flirtatious smile creeping in.

"Fine…" Kurt's fingers were still pressed to his face in mortification. He recovered enough to inform a surly Nick about the phone call as he walked back into the recording studio.

Nick nodded shortly. "Thanks, Kurt," he said, and shut the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

Kurt cocked his head questioningly. "Everything okay there?"

"No, not really. Nick and I have been writing songs together for two years and they keep rejecting them," Blaine said, voice laced with bitterness. "It's starting to get to him. Anyway, how often do you deal with arseholes like that on the phone? You seem… kind of okay with it."

"Oh that?" Kurt fluttered his fingers dismissively. "My cheerleading coach was a tyrant in comparison. I think she's made me immune to Neanderthals."

Blaine's eyes bugged out. "Cheerleading? Male cheerleaders _actually _exist?"

"Oh, I-" Kurt blushed again. "Yeah. There weren't many male cheerleaders on the squad, and I only really joined because Coach Sylvester said I could sing, but - Blaine Anderson! Are you thinking about sex?"

Blaine smirked up at him through his eyelashes. "I've been living in the wrong country _all my life_. How bendy were you? The guys, I mean."

"Blaine!" Kurt whined.

"I said the next time you made me think about sex, I would not be held responsible for my crudeness. You mentioned cheerleading. It's your fault. Were you in uniform?"

Kurt took it back. He hadn't missed this version of Blaine. It was all an elaborate lie. Rolling his eyes, he walked back through the front door of the recording studio and up the corridor. "Not listening."

"Was it tight?"

"I hate you!"

"No you don't. We've established that!"

"Screw you, Anderson."

"Is that a promise?"

Trent poked his head around the door to studio 4. "When you two are done flirting, you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago, hobbit," he said with an exaggerated wink.

Blaine paled and shot an uneasy look through the door. "No we weren't, I-"

"Blaine, I'm teasing," Trent said, his smile slipping over the reaction.

"Right. Yeah. I better get in there. Sorry, mate." Blaine eased through the door. Kurt shook his head at the silly boy, the corner of his lip upturned.

"Uh oh."

Kurt startled. He hadn't realized Trent was still there. "Uh oh?"

Trent gestured between Kurt and Blaine, who they could see through the glass taking a set of headphones from their music producer, Sam Evans, who had flown in from Nashville. Jeff and Nick were saying something to Blaine that caused him to punch their shoulders playfully and throw a distracted glance out into the corridor.

"Don't. Even. Think it," Kurt warned.

"Too late," Trent sing-songed. "For what it is worth, I think you'd make a cute-"

"-If you finish that sentence I will shove your microphone so far up your ass, you won't be able to find it for months. Clear?"

"Crystal." Trent zipped his mouth for visual effect.

With a huff Kurt made to walk into the studio to see if anyone wanted drinks, food, condoms, anything.

"You won't be interested to know that several of Blaine's exs are going to be at the National Television Awards next week then. Wes is probably going to ask you to keep him away from them," Trent said casually.

Kurt stiffened, hand on the doorknob. "How many are we talking?"

"Mmmm," Trent mulled it over, "twelve, but ten of them were brief hook-ups."

"Twelve?!"

"Jeremiah will be the worst one. Sebastian won't be fun either," Trent carried on.

"Twelve?"

"I may have missed some." Trent scuffed the carpet with the toe of his converse, a little smirk twitching. "The point is, it's going to be a minefield of men Blaine's shagged, jilted and loved."

That caught Kurt's attention. "...Who did he love?" he asked.

"Trent!" Wes thundered.

The door pulled open and Trent was yanked into the studio, leaving Kurt in the corridor, alone with his questions.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you for all of your encouragement if you've left a review before now. I really appreciate them. I think many of your questions might be answered to an extent here...**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp - Part Nine<strong>

The brief was simple on paper for the National Television Awards: Keep Blaine away from the celebrities he's bedded.

"Things could turn nasty, and we don't need him to have any more negative press," Wes explained in a meeting between himself, Kurt, Puck, Quinn and The Warblers brand new publicist, Kitty.

Kurt nodded his understanding. He knew that while the 12 piece a capella group from Dalton Academy became a five member band in the face of fame, Blaine's ability to charm his way into regrettable situations had not changed in the slightest.

With that in mind, Kurt was nervous.

"The organizers have been given a list of the people who need to remain segregated, so unless there's been a major cock up, Blaine won't be seated anywhere near," Wes carried on. He gave a folder to Kurt that was filled with brief biographies to go along with the pictures he would need to recognize the men in question.

"Quinn's going ahead to make sure the organizers have done their part, and we're being told if and when each gentleman arrives. All you have to do is keep an eye out and steer Blaine away from them. Don't worry about Nick, Jeff, David and Trent for tonight. Kitty will be keeping an eye on them."

Kurt nodded, glancing down the table at the blonde woman between Puck and Quinn. In time to start promotion ahead of the release of their third album, The Warblers had new representation in the form of Kitty Wilde. Small in stature and seemingly sweet in nature, Kurt had realized within the first five minutes of the meeting that looks were deceptive. She had a razor sharp mind and cutting tongue, evidenced by the verbal slap Puck had experienced when he suggested she looked a little young to handle such a high profile client.

Her last three clients had enjoyed a substantial increase in their public profile under her care, making her an obvious choice for Wes. Her job would entail taking advantage of opportunities to boost the band's profile, covering up their mistakes, keeping them out of trouble, and selling their brand to the public.

Whether or not she would achieve any of this without making herself very unpopular with the band members, remained to be seen, but for Kurt she couldn't have turned up at a better time. The boys were exhausting to look after at events like this.

When the meeting adjourned, Kurt took the folder away to memorize and later travelled in the same car as the five Warblers and Kitty to the ceremony. His leg bounced up and down to work off the excess energy. The task would be easy if the unpredictable variable – Blaine – didn't do anything stupid, which he probably would, because he was Blaine.

They were already in the queue waiting for the celebrities ahead of them to exit their vehicles onto the red carpet, when Kurt received his first in tell through an earpiece.

"_Chandler Keihl has already arrived,"_ Quinn's voice announced_. "Apparently he's with the journalists, so he'll be with the photographers by the time you guys step out."_

"What's he doing over here?" Kurt asked. As a follower of Broadway circles, he knew Chandler wasn't British.

"_Some new play on the West End,"_ said Quinn. _"Sebastian Smythe is already inside mingling. Keep. Blaine. Away. From. That. Smarmy. Asshole."_

"Oh. Kay," Kurt snapped. "What about Number One?"

Kurt's gaze flitted to Blaine momentarily, hoping he didn't understand the one-sided conversation Kurt was having. Blaine seemed too busy staring out of the window and swatting Trent's hands away from his classic black bow tie, to notice the oddity of Kurt talking to himself.

"_No sign of Jeremiah,"_ Quinn replied. _"With a bit of luck he'll stay away."_

"What happened there, anyway?" Kurt asked nonchalantly.

"_None of us know for sure. Blaine was pretty beat up about the break-up though."_

They pulled up at the entrance to the red carpet and Kurt gawped up at the venue. The Royal Albert Hall was exquisite to behold and intimidating in its nineteenth century extravagance. Barriers had been set up either side of the entrance to keep the general public and the media off of the red carpet that wormed its way to the sidewalk.

Kurt allowed the guys to step out ahead of him. Red carpet events were still alien to him; the blinding lights, screaming fans along the barriers, abuse spat from the mouths of photographers trying to get a rise out of the celebrities in attendance. None of it was aimed in his direction – after all, he was nothing but a prop in the background when all eyes were on the band – but he still felt overwhelmed for the first 30 seconds or so. And then his mind slipped into work mode and he was able to begin his observations.

"_Max Shockley is five cars behind us, so if you can't get Blaine away from the fans, steer him to the opposite side,"_ Quinn ordered in his ear.

"Got it."

"_Who knows, maybe this will be the one task you don't screw up," _she said snidely.

Kurt rolled his eyes into his skull. "And there I was thinking you'd go a day without being a bitch."

Blaine was on the left of the red carpet signing autographs, smile wide and genuine, hair slicked back and dapper to match the tuxedo he'd been loaned that afternoon. Kurt tore his eyes away from the singer just as he pulled a ridiculous face for a camera. Focus, Kurt. Scan the area.

Chandler Keihl was posing for photographs, he noted. No sign of Sebastian. Looking back towards the arriving cars, Kurt saw Max Shockley step out of one with the hand of a girl clasped firmly in his.

"You didn't mention that Max was a closet case," Kurt muttered.

"_Oh, he's still got the beard on his arm?"_ Quinn responded. _"Fun fact: He used to be Jeremiah's co-star in a soap opera called Hollyoaks. They were good friends but then Blaine hooked up with Max right after he broke up with Jeremiah." _

"A soap opera within a soap opera," Kurt deadpanned.

Kurt watched as Max made his way to the same side of the red carpet as Blaine and cursed under his breath. Checking that Puck was with him, he kept his stride unhurried and casual upon approach. "The fans at the other barrier are feeling neglected," he said.

"BLAINE! OVER HERE! BLAINE!" A girl from that side shouted, as if on cue.

"Hang on."

Max was only two barriers down, so when Blaine dotted the smiley face on his last autograph, Puck moved to block Blaine's view of him and Kurt turned him the opposite way gently. Blaine looked back at him curiously and whispered in his ear, "If you wanted to be that close to me, all you had to do was ask." He winked and jogged to the other side.

Kurt's heart thumped loudly in his chest.

"_Contracts don't stop him trying his luck, I hear,"_ said Quinn drily from his earpiece.

"It's harmless," said Kurt, following after him. "I'm beginning to think he's all talk and no bite."

_"Uh huh, sure. He's playing nice and waiting for you to let your guard dow- oh, shit!"_

"What?"

"_The fucking idiots have put Blaine, Chandler and Sebastian within the same two rows!"_ she snarled. _"Sebastian is behind Jeff and Chandler is next to Blaine's plus one."_

"Plus one?"

He didn't know Blaine was bringing anybody. David's girlfriend was already inside and Jeff was accompanied by his brother, but no dates had been mentioned for Blaine.

Quinn didn't respond. Kurt surmised she had found someone to yell at for the screw up, so he squashed down the peculiar squirm below his navel and went back to keeping a look out, which was just as well, because the fan section had turned into a minefield of former hook-ups. He felt like he was in a sitcom, steering Blaine from one spot to the next, taking photos from the fans who were squashed at the back of the barriers to hand to Blaine and keep him occupied. Trying to casually hide his real motives from not only Blaine, but also his hawk-eyed fans.

No news came his way until Kurt had handed Blaine back to Kitty, and the five Warblers were finished being interviewed by the press. They were posing for the photographers.

"_Kurt?"_ It was Wes in his ear. _"We told the organizers Blaine was bringing a plus one, just in case the seating was screwed up. Normally you'd be on standby elsewhere, but for today you're going to be Blaine's friend and sit next to Chandler. When he's finished outside, go with Blaine into the hall and act like you're supposed to be with him. Any questions?"_ said Wes.

Well that cleared that mystery up. "...No, no questions."

Kurt ran his hand through his hair, a panicked habit he'd picked up from Rachel. For someone who claimed he'd hired Kurt to not be a distraction for Blaine, Wes was certainly taking a sudden U-turn. Straightening his back, Kurt thought back to what his dad had advised, that time Kurt called up for reassurance hours before his first big function with Vogue.

'_It's all about presence, kid. Walk in there with your head held high and them flashy folks will think you're meant to be there.'_

Kurt Hummel was nothing if not adaptable. He'd claim to be a friend as told, which Blaine and Kurt were. With a deep breath he trailed a few steps behind Blaine, and slipped his hand through the crook of his elbow when they had a free moment.

"Wes is making me be your plus one for the night," he muttered.

"I knew you couldn't stay away," said Blaine with an easy smile.

"Keep it business, please," said Kurt.

"Yes, dear."

"I mean it. No touching. No veiled innuendos. No blatant innuendos. Wes will know if you're being inappropriate. He can hear you through this," Kurt gestured to the tiny microphone on his lapel. "I am here as a friend. If anyone asks, you went to school with me. And if Chandler or Sebastian try to talk to you, be brief and polite."

"Am I allowed to have _any_ fun?"

Kurt rolled his eyes as an usher came to direct them to their seats.

Kurt took the opportunity to gawp at the stunning auditorium of the Royal Albert Hall. It had been constructed for Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's late husband, back in the 1800s. Or so he'd read. So taken with the Henry Willis Organ and the glazed dome framed with wrought iron girders above them, he didn't notice Blaine had stopped walking until he stumbled into him.

Confused by the hold up, Kurt followed his eye line and cursed under his breath. Jeremiah stood in the gangway to the left of the enormous stage, talking to a small group of admirers. The dirty blonde curls Kurt had expected were swept to the side, framing his grey eyes. It was no wonder he had become a heartthrob on a teen soap opera, really. He was the right kind of conventionally attractive.

"Blaine?" Kurt called quietly in his ear. "We've lost the usher."

"Sorry… I saw someone."

Blaine drew Kurt's hand into his unconsciously and led him forwards again, eyes on the usher who was pointing at two seats in the middle of row D. Jeremiah looked over just as they reached their seats, and without thinking, before he could second guess himself, Kurt placed a small kiss on Blaine's cheek.

Blaine's jaw dropped.

Ducking his head, Kurt brushed distractedly at his own reddened cheek. What on Earth had just possessed him?

"Sorry. With a bit of luck he'll take the hint to leave you alone?" he explained unsurely.

Blaine's mouth set in the shape of an O as he lowered into his seat, eyes flitting to Jeremiah in confusion. Before he could respond though, the lights dimmed and a deep voice announced the name of the host for the evening.

Chancing a glance at the boy to his right, Kurt startled to find Chandler Keihl already looking at him with obvious curiosity. Eyes back to the front, he tried to ignore him, but Chandler's eyes remained. It was only when Kurt felt a hand squeeze his shoulder that he realized David was sat behind him. And that his shoulders were so high they were cuddling his ears; he dropped them.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," Chandler said when the lights went up for the commercial break. He adjusted his thick rectangular glasses on his nose and leaned in uncomfortably close to Kurt, bouncing slightly in his seat. "I'm Chandler."

"You haven't been introduced because he's none of your business," Blaine bit.

Chandler's ten watt smile dipped to a five. "Nice to see you too, Blaine," he said. He held out his hand for Kurt to shake and, not knowing what else to do, Kurt took it hesitantly, if only to break the atmosphere which had grown thicker than his winter comforter.

"Kurt. I'm a friend of Blaine's."

"A friend? He finally found someone he couldn't bend over then?" said Chandler cynically.

"Unlike someone," Blaine muttered, just loud enough for Kurt to hear. His back was rigid, and the inside of his cheeks were being pulled between his teeth to hold back further verbal abuse. He only seemed to relax again when Kurt found his right hand with his left and squeezed at his fingers.

"I'm a friend from school," Kurt lied hastily, flinching when a voice interrupted him in his ear.

_"Wrap it up, Kurt," _Wes said.

Right, he'd forgotten about the earpiece in his left ear. Focus. Cordial but short. Neither Blaine nor Chandler noticed anything amiss with Kurt, their eyes trained coldly on one another.

"It was nice to meet you," Kurt said. "Good luck with your play."

"You know about my play?" Chandler's eyes were bright all of a sudden and darting between Kurt's own.

"Duh, theater follower," Kurt said. "I saw you in the Bugsy Malone revival a couple of years back. I was there the night Tallulah fell into the orchestra pit." It wasn't a lie.

"Oh god, no!" Chandler flapped his hands in mortification. "That was my worst night, ever! You should totally come and see me in my new show when it opens. I can save you a seat and we'll get dinner and talk properly afterwards."

Someone (Trent, Kurt thought) sniggered from Blaine's other side.

"Oh... no I," Kurt floundered. "We're flying to the US next week. But uh, thanks? I don't mean to be rude but I'm neglecting Blaine. It was nice talking to you."

Kurt faced Blaine again, who was looking between them like he wasn't sure if he should be amused Kurt had lied, or irritated he'd been ignored for a whole minute.

"Sebastian's staring over at you guys," David murmured between them.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Blaine growled.

"Relax, I'm pretty sure Kurt's not his type," David reasoned.

"Erm, thanks?"

"That's a good thing. You don't want to be," said Blaine darkly. "Or Chandler's, for the record."

The lights went down again. Kurt chanced a look back at Sebastian whose amused eyes were on the stage, the livid flare of Jeff's nostrils the only evidence he'd probably had to endure a tedious conversation with him.

The rest of the interludes were fairly uneventful. Britain's Got Talent won the award for Favorite Reality Show, so when it turned out the boys' performance was scheduled for just after that acceptance speech, it became a tribute to the show that had launched their career.

Kurt was usually too busy running errands backstage or off site to watch them perform, so getting to sit back and enjoy the spectacle was a welcome change for him.

The five Warblers were debonair and energetic, a flawless amalgamation of layered harmonies and charisma. Initially backed only by Nick on the acoustic guitar, Kurt sung along quietly to Made For Me, a gorgeous ballad from their first album. But then the tempo changed, Nick gave the guitar to a stage hand, and Kurt cheered with the rest of the crowd when he recognized the seamless transition into their latest number one hit, Do The Dance.

"You have a lovely voice, Kurt," Chandler said in his ear, when The Warblers were taking their bows. "We should sing together sometime."

"Yeah. Maybe," Kurt said awkwardly, joining in with the standing ovation the audience were giving his friends, in a successful endeavor to drop the topic.

At the after party though, Kurt wasn't so lucky; Blaine was pulled into conversation all over the venue, leaving Kurt to decline every offer of champagne, stay on the lookout for potential ex-boyfriends, and make small talk with those who deigned to address him. They only seemed interested in talking to him about Blaine, anyway.

"Oh, you knew him at school? Tell me, was he such a smooth operator even then?" One woman giggled over her champagne glass.

"Oh, you bet."

"I swear nowadays all I do is look through the gossip pages to see who his latest victim is," another added.

Kurt laughed falsely with them and excused himself to grab a soda from the bar. "Not that it matters to you, you nosey bitches," he huffed under his breath. He grabbed two straws from a tub on the side and took four large gulps.

"I've not seen you at one of these before."

Kurt nearly choked on his last gulp. Jeremiah had slid into the space next to him, elbows against the bar, head cocked to observe Kurt.

"Oh," Kurt fumbled, "well, it's my first time to a UK function. I used to attend some in New York when I worked for Vogue." Kurt internally congratulated himself for sounding credible. He'd read in Jeremiah's biography that he was voted best dressed British male four years running and, well, if he was to look like he deserved Blaine's company, it couldn't hurt to throw that in.

Jeremiah nodded his approval. "So, Kurt Hummel…" His finger slid to Kurt's sleeve and ran along the lining. Kurt pulled it away uncomfortably. "How do you know my ex?"

"School."

"Really? He never mentioned you and we went out for nearly two years."

He was testing. Luckily Kurt had already formulated a story. "I was only at Dalton for a year or so while my dad had business here. I'm just visiting and Blaine asked me to tag along."

"Ah, so you're…"

"Good friends."

"Well, 'Blaine's good friend', could I ask a teeny favor of you? You see, Blaine and I had a very… messy break-up," Jeremiah said, his voice oily. "And I've been trying to make amends for a long time now. If I gave you a note to pass along to him, would you mind?"

This was not the direction Kurt thought this conversation was headed. He opened his mouth to decline, but Jeremiah had already pulled a white envelope from his inner jacket pocket and was sliding it into his hand, his other dragging up Kurt's forearm.

Jeremiah leaned over so his lips found Kurt's ear. "Thanks, it means the world to me."

Kurt felt a hundred spiders crawling up his spine, and he shuddered when Jeremiah slinked away into the crowd.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Nick asked from his other side.

"Jesus! What is it with you guys and sneaking up on me?" Kurt snapped.

Nick tapped his foot in wait of an answer.

Kurt held the envelope up. "He wants me to pass this along to Blaine. Should I give it to Wes?"

"Yes."

Caught off guard by the abrupt answer, he allowed Nick to clap him on the back, pick up his drink along with a glass the barman handed over and carry them to a table the Warblers had acquired.

"Kurt!" Blaine yelled, pulling him into the chair next to him. "You disappeared. Sorry about that. People, people, people. You have a drink? Great, me too, we have that in common."

"…Yeah, I have a drink, buddy," said Kurt. He cupped his hand and tilted it back and forth in silent question of Blaine's sobriety.

David shrugged and mouthed, 'Happy drunk'.

Ah, Kurt had only seen the puking-over-the-sidewalk drunk. And he wasn't keen on a repeat, so he took a jug of water from the table and filled a glass. Pressing it into Blaine's hand. "I think you need some water."

"I'm good."

"No, drink it," Kurt insisted.

"Fine." Blaine rolled his eyes dramatically and downed the water.

Kurt poured him another glass and completely missed the astounded stares he was receiving from the band, David's girlfriend Tina and Jeff's brother, Jack. Which meant no one saw Sebastian, coming until his chair was wedged between Kurt and Blaine's.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite lay ever."

"We have very different memories of that night, Sebastian. Fuck off," Blaine said, all joviality gone, like a stone cold bucket of water had been poured over him.

"Where the hell is Puck?" David growled.

"He's currently planning a threesome with some lovely ladies across the room," Sebastian said, not missing a beat. "Look, I'll cut to the chase. This party is boring. No one has caught my eye tonight, and you so happen to be here, probably gagging for it considering you've not been in the papers lately doing the walk of shame."

"Do you try and fuck all your friends' exs?" Jeff asked coldly.

"Only if they're hot," Sebastian replied with a dismissive wave. "Blaine, you game?"

"No he's not," said Kurt coldly.

Sebastian turned and looked him up and down. "No offence, but I wasn't talking to you, princess. I don't like feminine men."

"Well excuse me, _honey_, I wasn't coming onto you anyway," Kurt said with a dismissive wave of his fingers. "And I think your view of femininity is a little skewed."

"A little skewered?"

"Skewed," Kurt corrected with an eye roll. "And here are a few other words for you to look up, you know, when you work out what a dictionary is: Ignoramus, numbskull and cretin."

Trent choked on his drink and pressed his forehead to Nick's shoulder. He shook with laughter.

"May I introduce Kurt Hummel? He's a good friend of ours," Blaine said. His cheeks were pinched in like he was trying not to laugh himself. He motioned at Kitty waving at them from the door. "And I believe our ride is here. It wasn't so great seeing you."

"You're seriously trading me in for _that_?" Sebastian scoffed.

"Pretty much, Bas! Bye."

The journey back to the hotel was a rowdy one, squeezed, four one side, for the other side, into the backseat of the car. Blaine's thigh pressed tightly to Kurt's the whole way.

The singer's fingers were a maddening distraction from the loud conversation around them, playing with the hair at the back of Kurt's neck. Pleasurable shivers ran down Kurt's spine. He did and didn't want them to stop. And that in itself was a befuddling thing for Kurt, who had always been reticent to accept physical contact from other people, be they friend, family or boyfriend.

It was just the alcohol, he reminded himself. It didn't matter how high the hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood to attention, because tomorrow Blaine would go back to floundering through every interaction in his bid for professionalism.

It's was only when Kurt made it back to his hotel room, dazed and jittery, the white envelope sat on his bedside table that he realized something.

He'd never told Jeremiah his full name, and yet he'd known it.


	10. Chapter 10

**The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Ten**

The letter was sat on the side table in Kurt's hotel room the following morning, the cursive script spelling out Blaine's name visible from the bed. Kurt had been awake for over an hour, lost in his thought about the curious envelope while the early morning sun peaked in past the curtains.

Bunching up his pillow, he burrowed his head into the plump material and huffed his frustration. He didn't know what to do.

On the one hand, Jeremiah asked him to give the letter directly to Blaine, and while Kurt never said he would, it seemed rude to not do as asked. On the other hand, Kurt's job the night before had been to keep Blaine away from his ex-boyfriends, so surely it would be best to give it straight to Wes? The responsibility would be out of Kurt's hands then.

More pressing in Kurt's mind was the itch to open and read the letter, find out what Jeremiah had to say.

"This is stupid," Kurt said, and rolled onto his back. "It's none of my business."

And yet, something Quinn said was troubling him:

'_Blaine was pretty beat up about the break-up.'_

Would Blaine want to hear from someone who broke his heart? Would the letter convince Blaine to get back together with the actor? Everybody had noticed Blaine was in good spirits lately. Well, minus the issue he had with Kurt's contract. Jeremiah could very well derail that progress.

His instinct was to call his dad and ask his advice, but from the sounds of it he already thought Kurt was too invested in Blaine's life. Rachel would probably blab the information to someone in the cast of her latest play. Santana would tell him to read it and find Jeremiah's Achilles heel. David, Trent, Jeff and Nick were too close to the situation. So who did that leave?

He picked up his cell phone from beside the letter and dialed Mercedes' number. She had flown over a few days prior to prepare the guys for the NTAs now that their period of absence in the public eye was over. After a brief conversation, Mercedes hung up and soon was rapping her knuckles on Kurt's hotel room door.

"How long have you been working with the guys?" Kurt began when she'd settled on his bed.

"Two years next month. Why?"

Kurt fidgeted with the hem of his sleep shirt. "I was pretending to be Blaine's plus one last night – there was a seating plan screw up – and at the after party, Jeremiah cornered me."

"You mean, _Blaine's_ Jeremiah?" Mercedes grimaced. "... _Oh_."

"Yeah. Oh."

"Is that the problem? Baby, did he hurt you? Cos' if he did-"

"No," Kurt assured her, startled she'd jump to that conclusion. He picked up the envelope and placed it between them on the bed. "He gave me this and asked me to pass it on to Blaine. And I don't know-"

"- whether you should give it to Blaine, burn it, or let someone else know," she concluded for him.

"Help me!"

She turned the envelope over in her hands, stroking her finger across the singer's name.

"Honestly? I wouldn't give it to Blaine," she said.

"Really?"

"Hell to the no. That man," she shuddered. "I only ever caught snippets of the crap Jeremiah put Blaine through. You'd be amazed what people talk about in front of Sugar and I, when she's doing their make-up and I'm dressing them. He wasn't… good to Blaine. We were all kind of relieved when Jeremiah was caught with his dick up another guy's ass."

Mercedes gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and panicked. "Please tell me you already knew about that?"

Kurt could only gawp at her. "…Okay, I already knew about that."

"Damn!" Mercedes planted her face in the duvet. "Forget I said anything. I shouldn't even know."

"But how _do _you know? Not even Quinn could tell me _that_ much."

"Sugar's got this way of getting people to talk to her." Mercedes' voice was muffled by the duvet. "And she nearly always blabs it to me after they're gone, sometimes she doesn't even wait. I think Jeff let the cheating information slip."

"And the rest of it?"

Mercedes straightened up again and shook her head. "I'm sorry, baby; I shouldn't have told you even one secret. Blaine might tell you eventually. Until then, just know that Jeremiah was never good for him. Don't let him fool you with the nice-guy routine. He's not."

"Okay," Kurt acquiesced, although 'nice' wasn't the word Kurt would have used to describe Jeremiah last night. Oily, perhaps. Arrogant fit him nicely too.

"Aside from Jeremiah drama, how was the rest of the evening?" Mercedes asked. "I'm sorry I didn't see you, I had to leave right after the guys performed."

"It's okay. The whole evening was really awkward though." He wrinkled his nose. "Like, I was running after Blaine the entire time, trying to keep him away from all these guys I know he's slept with. Which didn't work because the seating plan was messed up. And then Chandler Keihl was hovering over me like a puppy, and that Sebastian guy tried to proposition Blaine at the after party, and with the Jeremiah thing too, it was just… tiring."

"Sebastian Smythe was there?"

"Oh yeah," Kurt griped. "That was a lovely encounter. The guy's an actual asshole. He made me so angry my teeth hurt. You know what I mean?"

"He's also the son of the CEO of Canary Records, so you might want to keep that opinion to yourself at the offices," Mercedes warned.

Kurt's mouth hung open in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was. Our lives would be a lot simpler if he wasn't."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Jonathan Smythe introduced Blaine to Sebastian," she explained. Kurt leaned forward in his interest. "There was this big dinner a few years back that all of the artists signed to the label were invited to. Blaine and Sebastian were sat next to each other and they hung out a few times afterwards from what I can tell. Somewhere along the line Sebastian introduced Blaine to Jeremiah, and everything went to hell from there."

"Sebastian knows Jeremiah?"

"Sebastian grew up with Jeremiah," Mercedes corrected. "They've been best friends pretty much since birth."

"But, Blaine's slept with Sebastian, right?" Kurt said, trying to arrange this new information in an order that made sense. "That's why I was trying to keep them apart last night. Was that before or after Jeremiah and Blaine were a thing?"

"Oh, that was definitely after." Mercedes' laugh was humorless. "It's the one hook up I know Blaine is ashamed of. I don't think he even remembers it. Blaine was drinking more after Jeremiah and he really can't hold it. But the guys gave him so much shit for it for weeks after, and he's never truly lived it down."

"Sebastian hooked up with his best friend's ex? What the hell kind of friend- actually, you know what, we shouldn't be talking about this." Kurt picked up the envelope and smoothed out a triangle that had folded over in the top left corner. "It's Blaine's business. I shouldn't even be asking. I'm sorry."

"No, you're right," Mercedes agreed. "So about the letter…"

"You think I should give the letter to Wes," Kurt summed up.

"I think that would be better, if it's not a conflict or anything," Mercedes confirmed. "Have you read it?"

"No," Kurt said. "It's sealed and not addressed to me, so it wouldn't be right."

Mercedes surveyed him, her smile fond. "I see why..." she murmured to herself.

"See why, what?"

"Why he likes you," she clarified. "I better go. The guys are on that late night talk show tonight to announce the next album's release date. What's it called?"

"Alan Carr: Chatty Man," Kurt said, without even pulling up his schedule.

"I need them to choose something to wear. We've had a lot of designers sending their clothes for them, and I need to know which ones I need to send back sooner rather than later. Can you make sure they're with me by 10.30, please?"

She kissed Kurt on the cheek when he nodded his assent and slipped from his hotel room. Kurt took a deep breath, the silence suddenly uncomfortable, like the walls were trying to listen as he dialed the number for Wes and held the phone to his ear.

"Hi, Wes. It's Kurt. I've got something to give to you, and I don't think you're going to like it."

Kurt heaved a sigh of relief when he finally shut Wes' hotel room door behind him. Who knew one tiny envelope could cause so much drama?

Thirty-three minutes he'd been questioned about the envelope: What had he been doing at the time it came into his possession? Why hadn't he brought it straight to Wes? Who else knew about it? Had he opened it? What had Jeremiah said?

"In exact details please. Full disclosure is imperative," Wes said.

Imperative? Anybody would think it was a national security issue, the way the manager was reacting. All Kurt knew for sure was that he'd had the overwhelming desire to scoff at the entire situation. Laugh. If for no other reason than to stave off his growing irritation.

Surely this was pointless mollycoddling? Blaine wasn't a child anymore. He could look after himself and make grown up decisions. When were his team going to catch on to this?

Kurt decided to take the stairs back down to his room, in the hope the exercise would work off the irritable energy simmering beneath his skin. He heard the sniffling before he'd even rounded the corner and spotted her, Quinn, perched on the stairs just above his floor. She was hunched over her legs, iPhone clasped in front of her.

"Quinn?"

Quinn grasped at the handrail flanking the stairwell and hauled herself to her feet. Her hand swiped at her face distractedly, pink in the cheeks from being caught in a vulnerable state.

"Go away, Kurt," she said, and turned to climb up the stairs. Her heel caught on the edge of a step and she fell forwards, only just stopping herself whacking her chin on the steps with her hands flat against the wood.

"Woah woah, Quinn."

Kurt took the remaining stairs down two at a time to help her, but she tore away from his grip and stumbled up to the landing he'd come down from.

"Go away. You didn't see this," she hissed.

"No, no, of course not." Kurt took another step down the stairs to reassure her. "I won't say a word."

She wiped at her bloodshot eyes again and smoothed her shoulder length golden hair back into place, readjusting the headband which kept her bangs out of her eyes. She nodded defiantly and turned to head round the corner.

"Quinn?" Kurt asked hesitantly

"What?"

"Are you okay?"

"Just peachy."

And then she was gone from his sight, heels clip clopping against the wooden stairs. Kurt continued on his way, mind buzzing with brand new questions. He spotted her iPhone from the corner of his eye, in the exact spot she'd been moments before.

Scooping it up, he was surprised to find that not only had it not locked itself, a picture was still on display. He made to shut the phone off but paused to study the little girl captured with a little smile. She couldn't be any older than five or six, with long blonde hair fashioned into two plaits. Ribbons tied them at the ends, framing her chubby, rosy cheeks. It struck him how oddly familiar her almond-shaped brown eyes were. Not that he could place them.

Beneath the picture was a simple message:

_Look who misses you! - Beth_.

He carried the phone to his room, thinking it would only rile Quinn up if he followed after her now. Even to hand the phone back to her.

The message was from somebody called Shelby, so the picture had to be of Beth. Who was Beth to Quinn? Was she a mother? An aunt? An older sister? He knew so little about her outside of their work duties, he realized. Where in the US was she even from?

This is wrong. He shouldn't be snooping, especially after he'd refrained from doing so to Blaine. She deserved the same courtesy. Locking the phone, he was considering how to return it to her without actually going up there, when someone banged on his door three times.

Puzzled, he peeked through the spyhole. It was Blaine.

"Hey," Kurt said, opening the door. "I was just about to see if anyone could give this back to-"

"-Who the hell do you think you are?" Blaine snarled.

"I-" The hand holding the phone fell limply to his side. "What?"

"Next time you're given a letter to pass onto me, hand it over to _me_! Messages from people I know in my personal life are nothing to do with my fucking team. Especially not Wes, Kitty, Quinn or anyone who works for Canary Records. Least of all, _you_."

Kurt took a step back, frightened by the cold fury in Blaine's eyes. They were almost black, the golden warmth he was used to twinkling back at him, barely rimming his pupils.

"Blaine, I-" Oh god, he was right. He was so right. "I'm sorry, I - I didn't know what to do with it. Jeremiah didn't give me a chance to refuse it and everyone told me to give it to Wes," Kurt hurried to explain.

"And it didn't occur to you that maybe that letter might have contained something I wouldn't want them to see? Fuck, Kurt, if you had brains you'd be dangerous-" He cut himself off. "I can't believe I thought I could trust you."

"You _can_ trust me!" Kurt said shrilly. "I took some bad advice. I didn't mean to upset you."

Blaine shook his head at Kurt, shoulders slumped, fists clenched at his sides. "Just... stay away from me. If I need to be somewhere, send me a text."

"Blaine, please…"

He wasn't listening. As he watched Blaine stomp away and jam his finger into the elevator call button, Kurt slumped against the door frame and banged his head against the flat edge of the wood. He felt like he'd been slapped across the face. Hard.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank you for all of your kind reviews. They are a real confidence boost. **

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Eleven<strong>

Kurt didn't realize how much he'd come to enjoy Blaine's company, until he was no longer there. Well, Blaine _was_ there – he was contractually obligated to show up at the places Kurt would be working – what with the amount of time spent ignoring his assistant's existence though, he may as well have not been.

Throughout the first week, Kurt assumed he'd let Kurt explain after cooling off. He was wrong.

Time soon ran away and two weeks rushed by without a cordial word between them. By the time Kurt's alarm went off the Monday morning of week three, Kurt's concern had entirely fizzled out and he was just angry about the entire situation.

Yes, he had made a mistake. He'd blurred the line between personal and professional. Kurt was amazed Blaine hadn't tried to file a complaint against Kurt, but Blaine hadn't been behaving anywhere near close to perfect either. There are nine-year-olds who would have handled this situation better than the nineteen year old had. So Kurt stopped trying to initiate conversation and went about his duties, forked tongue ready to strike anyone who pissed him off.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if the entire entourage didn't have front row seats for the show. Kurt was in two minds about the situation. On the one hand the other Warblers filled the silences with their pranks, banter and energetic conversation. On the other though, Kurt hated for them to bear witness to the steady decline of his professional and personal relationship with Blaine.

_Not that it was much before_, a snide little voice told him from the back of his head.

No, he would have preferred solitude; suffering in silence and pretending his stomach didn't ache every time Blaine gave him one word answers, or walked by him without the lovely smile he'd grown fond of.

Kurt skipped through security at Heathrow the first Tuesday of May, because they were finally (finally!) headed back to New York, albeit for a week only. He'd take the rage of Santana Lopez, and scales performed at 5am by Rachel Berry, over another week of the cold shoulder from Blaine. No contest.

The apartment was dark when he pushed through the sliding front door at 2am. Forgoing his moisturizing routine, he flopped onto his bed after changing quickly into a pair of old sweats and fell asleep in seconds. Rachel squealed and jumped on him not long after 7am.

"You're back!"

"You suck!" Kurt moaned drowsily. "Sleep..."

"No way, I haven't seen you in two months. I missed you."

Kurt peeked through one eye at her sorrowful pout and buried his head in his pillow. "Five more minutes."

He felt the edge of his duvet lift and Rachel scramble under the covers. Tucking herself under his chin, she wrapped her arm over his torso and said, "Fine, but I'm counting."

He had one day off to tackle the jet lag and settle back into his apartment in Bushwick. Then he was due to herd the band to the Live with Kelly and Michael studios the following morning, to talk about the progress of their new album, announce the Fall release date, and plant the seed of a potential world tour next year. Taking full advantage of his rare freedom, Kurt spent the day catching up with the girls. Rachel had booked the day off from the theatre and they spent a few hours in the diner Santana worked in, until she clocked out and joined them in the apartment. Takeout, snacks, facials and crappy rom-coms were on the agenda, perfect to forget all about Blaine Anderson. Rachel and Santana had other ideas though.

"I'll admit, I hold a grudge better than anyone on this planet," Santana said through a mouthful of popcorn, "but even I think he's just being a fuckwit now."

"I guess," Kurt said tonelessly, watching Ewan McGregor try and fool Renee Zellweger into thinking he's a shy astronaut and not a lecherous journalist. "What's this movie called again?"

"Down With Love," Rachel said.

"Appropriate," he said. "The little action I'm getting these days, I should join that club."

"Sounds to me like you would be getting some on the regular if you hadn't signed that contract," Santana pointed out snidely.

"I would have to be interested for that to happen."

"Which, you are."

"No I'm not," he said through gritted teeth. "He's an immature jerk who's done nothing but make my life difficult from the moment I met him."

"Well, I can see why he'd be upset with you," Rachel reasoned. "What if it was a love note? Those things are private. Or perhaps his and Jeremiah's relationship drama is smoke and mirrors to hide a dastardly plot. What if his life will be in danger if anybody discovers the details of that note?"

"Do you hear yourself when you talk, drama queen?" Santana asked with an eye roll.

Rachel shot Santana a withering look. "I'm just saying, there's something kinda' shady about it. I didn't even know Blaine had ever _had _a boyfriend, let alone the guy's name. I've never read an article about Blaine that mentions a Jeremiah."

"There isn't?" Kurt raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Positive," Rachel confirmed. "Not even a confirmed friendship. So clearly one or both of them didn't want the world to know they were together."

Huh. Kurt hadn't looked too closely at media articles about Jeremiah, so he'd never thought to see who he was publically linked with. Someone would have told Kurt if it was important though, right?

"Have you tried to make it up to him?" Santana asked?

"Yes!" Kurt exclaimed. "I baked him cookies and he gave them to the homeless guy outside Earls Court station." He rolled his eyes when Rachel held her hand to her heart and cooed at the admittedly thoughtful gesture. "I made him a muffin basket and Jeff and Nick scoffed the lot -"

"Are there any gestures that don't involve food?" Santana side-eyed him.

"I cleared his schedule and booked him in for a massage at the hotel. Not even a thank you. I didn't tell Wes when he got trashed at a party and turned up for rehearsal four hours late. Every time I've tried apologizing and explaining myself, he just ignores me and tells me to, and I quote," Kurt puts on a gravelly English accent, "'_Bother someone else with your excuses_.'"

"Look, Hummel, he's gotta' get over it some time. Just let him have his temper tantrum and eventually he'll realize he's being a fucker and come back," Santana said.

"You think so?"

"Sure," she said, and caught another piece of popcorn in her mouth. "How else is he supposed to convince you to sit on his dick, if he doesn't talk to you?"

Rachel threw her head back and cackled. Kurt pelted Santana with pillows. His phone buzzed with a new message.

**Unknown (21:27): Hi Kurt! It's Chandler. We talked at the NTAs? I know you're in New York right now, but let me know when you come back to London. **

Kurt blinked at the text a few times. Yes, he had read that right.

**Kurt (21:29): Hi… how did you get my number?**

**Chandler (21:30): I asked for it. I hope that wasn't weird. It wasn't, right?**

_No, not weird at all, _Kurt thought. How did Mr. Stalker even remember him? The NTAs were nearly a month ago. Who the hell did he know who…? Kurt clasped his phone tightly in his hand.

"I'm going to kill him!"

* * *

><p>Kurt arrived at the Live with Kelly and Michael studios with barely 20 minutes to spare, after he'd overslept by 45 minutes. Hurrying into the dressing room assigned to the Warblers, his relief that they'd all turned up was short lived when he zeroed in on the source of his sleepless night.<p>

"BLAINE!"

Blaine, who was lounging on a dark brown leather sofa, looked him in the eye for the first time in three weeks, stunned Kurt was addressing him with more than a mumbled request.

"Why the hell have I been getting text messages from Chandler Keihl?" Kurt demanded.

Blinking his confusion at the accusation, Blaine's mouth twisted up into a smirk. "Oh that. You're welcome."

"_You're welcome_?" Kurt hissed. "I've had 45 text messages from him since last night." His phone buzzed in his back pocket. "Make that 46. If I wanted him to have my number I would have given it myself. You had no right to do that."

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest, hazel eyes dark and considering. "So, kind of like you had no right to give my letter away?"

Kurt gaped at him. "Are you telling me you gave it away to- to what, even the score? There's a big difference between making a mistake and deliberately invading someone's privacy."

"Personal details _aren't_ free to give away willy nilly?" Blaine said with exaggerated slowness. "Wow, my mistake."

"Oh my god… just- just grow up!" Kurt yelled. Tears of frustration in his eyes.

"What's the problem? At least what I did might get you laid," Blaine snapped. "He fucks like a Chihuahua on acid, but it'll make a nice change from the drought you've been having. It's like your legs have been welded shut."

"Shut up, Blaine!" Nick growled.

Blaine's head snapped to the side and he surveyed the room, clearly having forgotten they weren't alone. Jeff looked between them with wide eyes. David, Trent, Nick and even Kitty were glaring at Blaine.

"Whatever." He lifted his hands in mock surrender and pushed past Kurt.

"Kurt?" Jeff took a step closer, his face unusually somber.

Kurt shuddered out a breath and quietly, with as much dignity as he could muster, opened the door and closed it gently behind him. His phone buzzed again.

**Chandler (08:24): Morning sunshine!**

**Chandler (08:35): Are you awake?**

**Chandler (08:42): Did you get my last text?**

* * *

><p>The interview and performance went off without a hitch, and thankfully no one would have guessed there was any ill feeling between the boys. Kurt did his best to avoid being alone with any of them for the remainder of the day, until David caught him in an elevator and convinced Kurt to go out for a drink with him.<p>

"I don't understand why he's so upset with me?" Kurt admitted when they'd settled in at a karaoke joint halfway between The Warblers current hotel and Bushwick. "Everybody else told me not to give it to him. I was just doing what I was told."

David turned his body to give Kurt his full attention.

"I think that might be the problem," David began. "Blaine, he… we've got a lot of people making decisions for us all the time. Some of them are dumb decisions. Our personal lives, for example? In an ideal world who we date would mean nothing to what we do for a living. We don't live in that world though and Blaine resents the fact that Canary Records and our publicists have so much control over his personal life."

"How much control?" Kurt asked. He sipped at his mojito, eyes trained on David in intrigue.

"Well, there's the fairly minor things like cussing in public; stuff that could make us seem like bad role models for young fans, and then there's the bigger stuff like dictating who we can and can't be seen with, altering our family history to fit the prep school image. That sort of thing."

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "They can do that?"

"And then some. Do you know much about Jeff's family?"

Kurt shook his head.

"His dad is a builder and his mum's a primary school teacher. I think your equivalent is elementary school? Anyway, Dalton is recognized as this Specialist Music Institution. Jeff's parents paid what little they could towards music lessons when he was a kid, but Jeff really wanted to go to Dalton after primary school. They couldn't afford the tuition, but he was so gifted in music, he was offered a scholarship for the music program when he was twelve. Our old PR rep made Jeff glaze over that detail because, quote: 'your family doesn't fit with your image'."

"He _what_? That's absurd!" Kurt exclaimed. "He's a role model. My dad's a mechanic and my stepmom is a nurse. It would have been amazing to have someone like Jeff to look up to when I was a kid."

"Try telling Hunter that," David said bitterly. "He wanted us to be the prep school One Direction, the Made in Chelsea of boy bands."

"Hunter?"

"Our former PR rep," David clarified. "It's not just Jeff. Tina and I have been together for five years, but as far as our fans know, I've been single the entire time I've been in the public eye. All because Hunter wanted us all to 'seem attainable'."

"How does Tina feel about that?"

David tilted his head down and looked up at Kurt as if to say, _really_?

"That's awful."

"That's showbiz," David grumbled. "As for Blaine, well, it's a miracle he's even allowed to be 'out' publicly. The only reason that happened is because Wes is a cunning bastard when he wants to be, and managed to convince the record company that it wouldn't damage our success. Well, that and he hoodwinked Hunter." He took a swig of his lager and took a look around the bar to make sure no one was paying them any attention. "Did anyone tell you why we severed ties with our last PR firm?"

"No."

"Hunter had it in for Blaine. He spent more time trying to cover up Blaine's sexuality, than he did promoting the band," David explained. "He was convinced that girls wouldn't buy into our brand if our lead singer was gay."

"When did Blaine come out?" Kurt asked. There was mostly mushed up ice in his glass now, and he swirled it with his straw.

David leaned closer, voice lowered.

"He's been out for as long as I've known him. Blaine was upfront about his sexuality before we even signed our record deal. But then we made the mistake of signing with Carmel Public Relations and Hunter tried to force him back into the closet. Jeff and I are good liars when we have to be, but Blaine? He's transparent. His mouth can be saying one thing, and his doe eyes give away the truth. It was too bigger lie for him and it was making him miserable, so Wes went behind Hunter's back. When we were on the Ellen Degeneres Show a couple of years ago, he asked Ellen to bring up our relationship statuses."

"I remember that," Kurt gasped. "She asked if you had girlfriends. Right?"

"Yeah, that was Wes' idea. Hunter had given Ellen's team the standard list of subjects she could and couldn't bring up in the interview, so she couldn't outright ask if any of us were gay, but there was nothing wrong with asking us a generic question about our 'girlfriends'. So Blaine 'accidentally let the word boyfriend slip'," he made bunny ears with his fingers. "The fans lost their shit when the interview aired, and guess what? Our fan base doubled from all the publicity."

"Hunter was furious." David grinned, relishing the memory. "Canary Records weren't happy about it either at first, but they changed their tune when our album jumped to number one on the US Billboard chart. It's amazing what an increase in sales can do to a label's perspective. That didn't stop Hunter trying to control Blaine though."

"What did he do?" Kurt asked.

"He decided to make sure Blaine didn't come across 'too gay' in the media. By that point though we we're all certain it wasn't for the good of the band. We think he was just pissed off that Blaine came out behind his back, and decided to make his life difficult."

"But why?"

"Because Blaine made him look like an idiot. Wes had found a loophole in our contract that meant Blaine couldn't be prosecuted for outing himself. We went on our world tour and everything seemed okay for a while. But when we returned to London everything went to hell. Hunter amped up the gay-but-straight charade with Blaine, and then Blaine broke up with Jeremiah, and I think the combination of the two things made him snap and start rebelling."

"Promiscuous Blaine started," Kurt surmised.

"Bingo."

"So what happened with Hunter?" Kurt asked.

"There wasn't a lot we could do about him until the contract ended back in December," David said. "We didn't renew it and parted ways."

"And you signed with the new firm in March." Kurt carried on.

The pair of them winced when an inebriated man stepped up to the microphone on the small stage in the corner, attempting to out-sing Freddie Mercury in Bohemian Rhapsody.

"We wanted to make sure whoever we signed with this time, wouldn't force us to tell any lies we don't choose for ourselves," David said, leaning into Kurt's ear so he could be heard. "With Kitty, we have it in writing that she has to run all ideas by us first."

"Kitty agreed to all that?" Kurt asked, surprised.

"She's a scary person, but her approach is more relaxed than Hunter's. He was smothering the real us. She wants to merge the real us with our public persona to take us forward. We need someone like that. There's always someone trying to control everything around here. Blaine more than any of us. And to be frank, it pisses him off."

Kurt nodded thoughtfully. It was a lot of information to take in.

"Now about Blaine's latest meltdown, I think your contract put him on the edge and the letter from Jeremiah sent him head first over it," David continued, unaware Kurt was lost in thought.

"I still don't understand how he reacted about my contract," Kurt admitted. "Every job I've ever had says that affairs between employers and employees are big no no's. The way he reacted, it's like he didn't know?"

"He probably didn't," David said. "Blaine's always been pretty sheltered from reality. He's got this disarming charm that's always got him out of trouble. The teachers at Dalton loved him. He could climb on the furniture and they'd give him a half-hearted telling off."

Kurt laughed at the image that conjured in his mind.

"But it means his perception of responsibility is a little bit... unrealistic," David said.

"That's a very light way of putting it," Kurt mused.

"Look, being in a band is sometimes like living under a different set of rules," David defended. "We all took advantage of the perks offered to us in the beginning and Wes made excuses for us when we misbehaved. Somewhere along the line the rest of us calmed down, while Blaine went on this weird alternative personality spiral. He took it too far, and Wes is under a lot of pressure to control him now. That letter you gave to Wes, I don't know what it was about... but if you had come to me for advice, I would have told you to give it to Blaine."

"Why?" Kurt whispered.

David tapped his nail against the bar thoughtfully. "Before you were hired we were at the end of our tether with him. People were talking more about him and his behavior than the band and the music. He was just being a selfish dick as far as we knew and we all thought it was just post break-up rebellion. And it made no sense. Jeremiah was just one guy. Why did Blaine let their sham of a relationship alter his whole personality? He- he became this _idiot_ who turned up to work late; leered at everyone he was attracted to and didn't watch how careless he was with the media. That's not the Blaine I knew growing up, you know?"

David took another swig. "It's only in the last couple of months that I've realized it's not Jeremiah he was reacting to. Acting out has been his way of flipping off the people telling him not to be 'too gay'."

David's eyes rested on the varnished wood in front of them, eyes faraway, thoughtful.

"I was harsh on him," he continued. "I'll admit that. I should have tried harder to understand, but you saw what he was like when you arrived. We'd had that version of Blaine for the better part of a year."

Kurt nodded. He hadn't been very patient with that version of Blaine either. He'd judged him before they'd even met.

"He wants control back. He wants people to leave him be. He wants someone to put him first and his image second."

"So what's changed? You said you _were_ at the end of your tether with him," Kurt asked. "Why not now?"

David hesitated. "You turned up," he admitted. "You… you don't take any crap from him, but you listen. You make decisions that risk overstepping, but give him what he wants – what _we_ want – instead of what the people in charge demand. People rarely do that for us unless they get something in return."

"The photos at the CD signing," Kurt realized aloud.

David shook his head. "Not just then. Before, the day he went missing in New York?"

Kurt frowned. "But, I was acting on Quinn and Wes's orders."

"You offered to quit and not come with us, because he said he didn't want to go home if you were around. He told me about that."

Kurt's stomach squirmed at the memory. "He was so drunk that night I thought he'd forgotten," he said.

"He hasn't. So, can you see why he's upset with you? He thought you were on his side."

"I am on his side!" Kurt exclaimed.

"The contract he could let go, because you signed that before you knew him," David cut over Kurt and held eye contact firmly, imploring him to listen. "But you gave the letter to Wes instead of Blaine. Wrong or not, in his eyes you didn't trust him to have that control of his own personal life. I guess he felt kind of betrayed."

"But that still doesn't explain why he's so upset with me _specifically_," Kurt said. "From where I'm standing, everyone around here hides things from him. Why is he more hurt by _me_ than anyone else on this team?"

Tilting his head to the side, David smiled sadly at him. "You really have no idea how Blaine looks at you, do you?"

Kurt's heart pumped at a doubled speed. "No, no, don't do that."

"Kurt-"

"-He just wants a leg over. He likes the banter," he fumbled.

"Okay, yes, he does want to have sex with you," David conceded.

Kurt's jaw dropped.

"What? He does! Sometimes his dick dominates his brain. If I'm being honest though." David leaned in and Kurt mirrored him. "I've never seen Blaine look at anyone or act the way he does when he's with you."

"Flirtatious? Crude?"

"Gentle," David said. "Jeremiah hurt him badly, but Blaine's feelings were never _that_ strong. He thought he was in love, but I think it's his pride that was wounded. Why do you think the contract upset him so much? It's not just about control of his life, it's the fact that he can't have _you_. He's not allowed to act on his feelings without risking your job and hurting _you_."

"Why are you telling me this?" Kurt moaned. "Even if I did feel the same way – I'm not saying I do – he's out of bounds. How am I- do you have any idea how awkward this is?"

"Like it wasn't before?" David snorted. "Watching the Klaine dance has been painful from day one."

"You did not just give us a ship name," Kurt's voice was low, disbelieving.

David rolled his eyes. "Look, find a way to gain his trust back. Talk to him. He's calmed down a lot since February and I'm positive that's down to you, man. You're a good influence on him."

"I think you give me too much credit," Kurt said uncomfortably.

David smiled fondly. "You guys will be fine, okay? He likes you too much to stay mad. Oh, and for the record, Jeff gave Chandler your number. He thought it would be funny after the whole leaving him handcuffed thing."

And with that David turned to the barman and ordered another lager, the subject dropped.

Kurt felt like a prize idiot.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Bear with the boys. They're being idiots at the moment, but they will get there. **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you for all of your feedback. I can't quite believe how positive you've all been about the story so far. On we go!**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Twelve<strong>

The weather in London was trying its hardest to warm up. Not that its population were optimistic of this progress. While the sun was usually nearing unbearable by the time May came around in New York and Ohio, the British knew better than to trust the weather forecast. You could tell the natives from the tourists by who didn't have an umbrella at hand at the first sign of drizzle, leaving the visitors drenched and running for cover.

Kurt was glad to have learned this lesson early on as he walked, umbrella in hand, from the tube station to the Canary Records offices. The rain had come without much warning after a dry spell, covering the city in the pitter patter of droplets on the stone sidewalk (or '_pavement'_, as he'd been told over and over, until the gang were lucky he hadn't walloped them over the head with the American dictionary). Rain was every fashionable man's nightmare.

Despite the weather, Kurt's mood had improved drastically since returning from New York. The week at home had done him the world of good, and while Blaine had gone back to ignoring his existence, getting himself caught tumbling out of pubs and bars by paparazzi; Kurt was determined to stop letting it affect him.

Kurt's phone rang in his pocket as he reached the fourth floor of the building, headed to yet another meeting between The Warblers and a group of talking heads in stiff suits, 'discussing' the band's next move. Kurt was only required to get coffee and set up the app to record everything said.

He smiled at his stepmother's name flashing back at him on the phone's interface.

"Carole? Hi, what are you doing up, isn't it like 2am there?"

"_Honey, I'm going to need you to sit down," _she said in lieu of a greeting.

Her voice was calm and soothing. Too calm and soothing, actually. Kurt wanted nothing more than some inflection of emotion. Nurses training had kicked in though, her bedside manner like a second skin.

His father had been working late at the tire shop when the heart attack struck. It wasn't severe like the one Burt suffered Kurt's junior year of high school, but enough to warrant a trip to the emergency room. Scary enough for the doctors to keep him sedated for the time being, while they worked out the exact cause.

"_No, you shouldn't come home," _she said. _"He's going to be fine. The diet we've had him on has put him in a much better place this time around. And you have responsibilities."_

"But-"

"_Your father is the strongest man I have ever met, honey. He survived cancer. He's not leaving us any time soon."_

Kurt didn't listen. He ended the phone call quickly, making sure Carole promised to call him about any changes the moment she knew them. Not a second later.

Only when he'd hung up the phone, did he stop fighting the ache in his jaw. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. Blindly, he found his way back down the corridor and through the fire escape that led to a spiral staircase.

He was helpless. That's the only way he could describe the ache in his gut, the itch in his fingers to do something. Anything.

It was bad enough knowing something could happen to his father when he was in New York. Now he had an entire ocean between them. What if Carole was playing it down and it really was as bad as the first time? What if his condition worsened and he didn't have enough time to catch a flight to Ohio? What if his dad was asking for him?

Kurt crouched low on the floor and held his stomach, gasping for breaths he couldn't draw in fast or deep enough.

What would he do without his daddy?

His sobs grew in volume, noisy and unrestrained, forehead rested on his knees. Tears dripped down the edge of his nose. Anybody could have walked by at any moment, but he was beyond caring, his mind trapped in an uncertain future that might not include his father.

Somewhere in the background he heard the door to the fire escape open. A voice he recognized said, "Kurt?"

Blaine tucked his phone into his back pocket and crouched beside Kurt, his hand gently running through Kurt's hair. It made him cry harder.

"Hey, hey. Look at me," Blaine said. He placed his fingers either side of Kurt's jaw and gently guided his head up. His eyes were wide and concerned, searching Kurt's face for a clue. "Are you okay?"

Kurt's chin trembled under Blaine's soothing, guitar calloused fingers, but even as he blurted out, "Dad," in answer, he couldn't help but wonder why Blaine was comforting him.

Weren't they still fighting?

"Your dad? Okay, I- what happened? Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Kurt sobbed. "Heart attack."

"Heart attack? Okay. Well no, not- shit… do you need to go home?" Blaine floundered.

"Carole said, she said- she said don't- but I- I can't- I don't know if he's- if he's okay, and-"

"No, no, okay. Come with me. We'll go somewhere more private and we'll sort this out. Come on," Blaine said.

He helped pull Kurt to his feet and tugged on his hand. Kurt followed, blinking fresh tears from his eyes. Blaine steered him through a door and shut it behind them, settling Kurt down on a sofa. Then he knelt before him and wiped his thumbs gently under Kurt's eyes. His lips turned up at the edges sadly.

"Sit here and I'll be right back. Okay?"

Kurt nodded, head bowed. Only when Blaine had made a quick exit from the room, did he realize he'd been pulled into an empty meeting room. Ahead of him was a long oak conference table with eight chairs on either side and a white projection board on the far wall. Blinds covered the windows, hiding the fourth floor view of London below them; bustling, heaving with people going about their business, oblivious to the inner turmoil of the people around them.

If there was one thing he disliked about London, it was how distant people could be.

Ten uneventful minutes went by before he heard Blaine's voice again, and when the singer walked back into the conference room, his phone was held to his ear. He beckoned for Kurt to follow him out of the door, concentrating on whatever the guy on the other end was saying. They seemed to come to an agreement just as Blaine opened the door to a silver Jaguar, allowing Kurt to slide into the back, and following him into the backseat. The driver pulled away.

"Where are we going?" Kurt asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Back to the hotel," Blaine said. "Mercedes is bringing a bag of your belongings out to the car and then we're headed to Heathrow."

Kurt stared at the profile of Blaine's face in confusion. "But, I haven't booked a flight home. And I've got work to do. I haven't even talked to Wes about what's happened. I can't just up and leave like that!"

"Yes you can because I've told him what's happening," Blaine dismissed, and tapped out a text message. "And you do have a flight home."

"...What?"

"It's taken care of. You're going home. And you're not coming back until you're sure your dad is okay. Quinn's hiring a temp to manage our diaries while you're away."

"...Wait, you said 'we'. _We_ are going to Heathrow?"

For the first time since Blaine found him by that stairwell, he seemed uncomfortable, looking at his fingers, fascinated with the way they turned his phone this way and that.

"Blaine?"

"Um, yeah, so... I'm coming with you?" His cheeks were pink and he rushed to explain. "Look, I know you probably don't want me there, but it's not a good idea to leave someone alone like this and it's a long flight, plenty of time to work yourself up. If nothing else I can be a distraction. If - if you want?"

Kurt held his hand up to silence him and nodded, smiling softly. It was an unexpected olive branch Blaine was holding out, but one he was more than willing to accept. He was so tired of the fighting.

They didn't speak for the rest of the journey, save for brief words exchanged with Mercedes when they pulled up to the hotel. She threw two bags into the trunk of the Jaguar and gave Kurt a bone crushing hug. And then they were speeding towards Heathrow, the traffic oddly quiet for a weekday in London.

The car was being led to a back entrance into the airport and cruising towards the small private plane they often used, when Kurt placed his palm over the back of Blaine's hand.

Blaine raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Twelve and a half hours later Kurt was peering through a window into his father's room at Lima Memorial Hospital. Flashing back to the last time his father had been admitted here. Kurt had been seventeen, dealing with the possibility his dad wouldn't wake up.<p>

Fast forward five years and his condition was less severe. He knew that. Knowledge of this kind never lessens the ache of foreboding possibility, the throb of an anxious heart used to pain.

Kurt drew strength from Blaine's hand against his shoulder, breathed deeply, and walked into the room. He accepted a hug from Carole, though he barely felt it; his limbs were too numb. Fixing his eyes on his father's face grimly, Kurt sighed his relief when his dad peered curiously at him through heavy eyelids. Tubes were running up his nose, the crooks of his elbows bruised from unsuccessful attempts to insert the drip through his skin (The nurses had resorted to piercing a vein in his left hand), his skin was pale and parchment rough, dark shadows stark beneath his eyes.

No, you never got used to this. Carole left the room and he took the seat she'd vacated.

"Kurt?"

"Yeah, Dad, it's me."

"Shoulda' known you wouldn't stay away," he croaked.

"As if." Kurt scoffed. "How are you feeling?"

"Like a truck took the wind out of my sails."

Kurt cocked his head. "How does that work? Trucks wouldn't float on water."

"Alright, smart ass," Burt said, and lifted his hand for Kurt to take. "Who's that?" He was looking through the window at a politely smiling Blaine, deep in conversation with Carole.

"Oh, that's Blaine," Kurt said. His cheeks felt warm in the stuffy room. "He figured I'd work myself up if I didn't have someone to distract me."

"Oh yeah. Didn't recognize him with the curls."

Blaine chose that moment to look through the window and catch Kurt's eye. He offered a sweet crooked smile and put his thumbs up questioningly. Kurt nodded in answer.

Burt smirked. "He looks different from his pictures. Help me out here." He lifted himself up on his pillows. Kurt jumped up to rearrange them behind his head. "He's right though, you woulda' done that."

"So what's the prognosis?" Kurt asked.

"I'll live," Burt said. "I have to take it easy though. I'm not allowed back at work for six weeks."

"And…?"

"And nothing."

"Dad," Kurt warned.

Burt crossed his arms over his chest, mumbling. "Fine… and no junk food, or red meat, or beer, or any of the good stuff."

"Good."

That earned Kurt a scowl. "How long you back for?" Burt asked.

"Undetermined."

"Kurt." It was Burt's turn to chide his son. "I'm fine. You can't put your life on hold every time I get a sniffle."

"How does a sniffle compare to a heart attack?" Kurt asked.

"Not the point. You can stay until I'm discharged, but after that you're going back to wherever those Warbler guys are. And you're going to reach for them stars. Got it?"

Sighing, Kurt examined his cuticles stubbornly, unwilling to fight with his father.

"Got it," he conceded. "Now scoot over."

Burt did as told, slowly and carefully. Kurt climbed onto the bed and wrapped his dad up in a loose hug. Twenty-two he may be, but he's not too old for this.

* * *

><p>Despite seeing with his own eyes that his father was okay, Kurt didn't sleep well that night. The bed in his old room was unfamiliar now, lumpy in places his mattress in New York wasn't, and it seemed he'd grown accustomed to the comfort of expensive London hotels on top of that.<p>

Evidence of the rising sun streaked through the drawn curtains and Kurt resigned himself to crashing sometime in the afternoon, the victim of jet lag and pulsing adrenaline. Sitting up, he snuck a look over the side of the bed and smirked at Blaine, curled up under a grey blanket, on the fold-up mattress Carole had found in her converted craft room. The snoring wasn't loud, exactly, more a gentle snuffle which occasionally gurgled in the back of his throat. Kurt probably wouldn't have even noticed if he wasn't listening for it.

He watched for a few minutes. Peaceful wasn't a word Kurt associated with Blaine. Complicated, energetic, bad-tempered, sweet, playful – they made sense. Peaceful, not so much. Not with his lifestyle, jumping from country to country, bed to bed, studio to studio.

Peaceful did _suit_ him though.

Blaine shifted onto his side and blinked his eyes open. "Hey," he mumbled and smacked his lips. "What time is it?"

"The sun's not been up long," Kurt said. He wrapped his duvet over his knees and propped his head on them. "I couldn't sleep."

"Because you couldn't turn your mind off, or because I snore?" Blaine asked.

"Oh, you're aware of that?" Kurt teased.

Blaine chuckled. "A couple of people have said it. Trent complains the most."

"It wasn't keeping me up," Kurt assured him.

"Good. How you holding up?" Blaine asked.

Kurt puffed a weary breath, mind wandering back to his father. "I know I've seen him. I know he's okay, but I can't stop… worrying."

"That's understandable. He's your dad. It's your job to worry."

"Don't tell my dad you said that." Kurt smiled and shook his head fondly. "He's always said it was his job to worry about me, not the other way around. Which is kind of hard to live by when stuff like this keeps happening every two or three years."

"Carole said something about prostate cancer," Blaine said cautiously.

"Yeah, that was the health scare when I was nineteen. He was in a coma after a heart attack when I was seventeen. Now this when I'm bordering on twenty-three. I feel like every time I think things are looking up, I get smacked across the face with a cruel reality check."

Blaine stayed silent, snuggled beneath his blanket, intelligent enough to know Kurt was sounding off and did not require a dialogue.

"Thanks for keeping me company," Kurt said after a brief silence.

Blaine tried to protest.

"No, I mean it. We've not exactly been on good terms. You didn't have to help me. So, thanks."

"Kurt." Blaine sat up and Kurt averted his eyes, a blush rising to his ears when he realized Blaine was clad only in boxer shorts. The trail of hair below his navel made Kurt feel a little dizzy, and it was with great effort that his eyes lifted to Blaine's face. "Just because I was mad at you, doesn't mean I stopped caring."

"You care about me?"

Blaine swallowed thickly. "Yeah, of course I do..."

Kurt picked at a hole in his duvet, nonplussed. "Well, I - I mean, we've not exactly known each other long, and I figured I wasn't high on your list."

"Right... yeah I- I guess I could see why you'd think that." Blaine ruffled his own hair with a guilty sigh. "Kurt, I'm sorry."

"Blaine, don't-"

"No please, I need to get this out. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. I'm sorry about what I said in that dressing room. That was out of line. I'm sorry I've been avoiding talking to you. And I'm sorry I've dragged this out so long."

"Blaine, it's okay."

"No, it's not. I completely overreacted," Blaine exclaimed, forgetting himself a moment. He closed his eyes and gentled his voice. "You didn't deserve any of that. I should have just manned up and accepted your apology weeks ago. I hate being mad at you. I'm not anymore. I was just being stubborn."

"Yeah, me too," Kurt admitted. "And while we're on the subject of apologies, I'm sorry I yelled at you about the Chandler thing."

"Oh... no, no." Blaine cleared his throat. "It's fine. I know I shouldn't have done that either."

"Cover for Jeff and take the blame? Yeah, you really shouldn't have."

"I'm sor- wait, what?"

"I know Jeff did it." Kurt smiled sheepishly at his lap. "He told me. Well, David told me, and then I held Jeff's balls in a vice until he fessed up and called Chandler off for me."

Blaine sniggered. "... Oh."

"I'm sorry I assumed it was you. It just... made sense I guess."

"It's fine." Blaine smiled up at him reassuringly.

Kurt slid off the bed and sat himself opposite Blaine on the floor mattress. "So are we okay?" he asked hopefully.

Blaine answered with a hug around Kurt's waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. "We're okay," he confirmed. "Just… next time someone gives you something for me, please don't hand it off to Wes."

"Deal," Kurt said. He'd learned his lesson there.

Kurt entertained the idea of asking Blaine about Jeremiah, but thought better of it. And the thought slipped his mind entirely when a gentle kiss was pressed to Kurt's forehead. Caught off guard by the tenderness, Kurt's mouth opened and closed, unable to find a dry comment to brush the moment aside.

Something David said came to mind:_ 'I've never seen Blaine look at anyone or act the way he does when he's with you.'_

"So what's the plan for today?" Blaine asked, snapping Kurt back to attention. "Because I have a proposition?"

"Oh?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"The hospital won't let us back in until visiting hours, so we have several options. You can... show me around your home town." Kurt pulled a face. "We can go to the mall and risk being noticed by Warbler fans." Kurt scowled at the thought. "Or, we can go see a crappy movie. Your choice." Blaine lay back down and awaited Kurt's answer.

"How is a movie theater less public to you than the mall?"

"I go to the cinema all the time back home."

"On your own?" That seemed a bit risky to Kurt.

"If I fancy the quiet time, yes. They're dark. People are less likely to notice me. And anyway if someone does recognize me, you can step in," Blaine reasoned with a teasing smile.

He had a point there.

"Movie it is."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Told you they'd stop being idiots. Well, mostly.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who have read, reviewed and favorited this story so far. I love reading your thoughts and speculation about each chapter.**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Thirteen<strong>

Burt was kept in the hospital for a further five days to monitor his condition. Kurt was signed off duty until his return to the UK, but Blaine was constantly being brought into band discussions via Skype calls.

"He never looks happy when he comes back," Carole noted on day two, after Blaine had excused himself from Burt's room in Lima Memorial Hospital to answer another call.

"There's always something," Kurt said absently. He clucked at his dad to lift his head.

"Kurt, if you adjust the pillows one more time, I'm sending you home," Burt threatened.

Kurt scowled, perching neatly on the plastic seat the nurses had supplied. "Between Wes, the record company, and the band's publicists, nothing is ever perfect," he explained to Carole.

"If he doesn't like something, can't he just change it?" Finn asked through a mouthful of bread roll that was originally intended for Burt. "I mean, he's the lead singer, right? Doesn't he call the shots?"

Eyeing Finn's open mouth with disgust, Kurt replied, "Even the royals have to negotiate with idiots."

The conversation cut off as Blaine slid inside, phone in hand, brows furrowed in discontent.

"What's with the face?" Kurt asked.

"Nothing." Blaine forced a smile. "It's just Wes stressing."

"About?"

"Um, you know Harmony Delgada?"

"Not personally, no."

Harmony Delgada was a singer/songwriter who Kurt didn't particularly care for. Her voice was admittedly beautiful, but her songs were boring and clichéd at best. How she'd managed to win a Grammy five years earlier, was beyond his understanding. It must have been a slow music year.

"Har, har." Blaine rolled his eyes. "The record company want us to collaborate with her. Wes has been trying for months to get her to agree to a meeting, and her rep phoned up this morning and expected us to drop everything and meet today. Naturally, the little angel threw a fit when Wes explained I wasn't even in the country."

Kurt bit his lip guiltily. "Sorry."

"Don't be daft, none of us even _want_ to collaborate with her." Blaine rolled his eyes and took his seat next to Kurt. "One of the talking heads up top thinks it will be a good way to bridge the gap between our current album and the next one. Keep the fans interested, you know?"

"So, you're not a fan of her," Carole observed. Between Carole, Finn and Burt, she was by far the most fascinated by the stories he told.

"Of the screaming banshee? Not even a bit. To put it lightly, she's a pain in the a...backside," Blaine shot a furtive glance at Burt, who Kurt had forgotten was there for a moment, too wrapped up in the only work-related information Blaine had laid on him. "She has this really obnoxious personality."

"Yeah... obnoxious personality. Who would want to deal with that?" Kurt said airily.

"Alright, alright." Blaine chuffed and dropped his chin to his chest in embarrassment. "At least I admit I can be obnoxious."

"How noble of you."

Kurt watched Blaine chew the inside of his cheeks and relished the fact he was trying so hard to keep from being inappropriate. Carole would probably find their usual banter amusing, but he was right to watch his words in front of Kurt's dad.

"They'll just rearrange to suit her highness and we'll get it over with as quickly as possible," Blaine finished.

* * *

><p>Throughout the week Kurt found new reasons to be amazed by Blaine. He spoke to Burt and Carole with ease, humoring Carole's curiosity with a patient smile, debating with Burt and Finn about the merits of American football versus soccer with spirit.<p>

"I just don't get why you guys call it 'football' when you carry the ball around most of the time?" Kurt heard Blaine say one time, when he returned from the cafeteria with coffee for everyone. The three of them had their eyes glued to a Buckeyes game on the TV.

"I don't get why you guys call soccer, 'football'," Burt rebuffed gruffly.

"It makes sense! At least with football – sorry, soccer – you're supposed to use your feet the whole time. The only time you're allowed to touch the ball with your hand, is if it's a throw in from the side-line or you're the goal keeper. You don't use your feet all that much in your version."

"They run and stuff," Finn countered.

"And how come they stop the clock all the time? Just get on with it!" Blaine said.

Kurt rolled his eyes at them and settled next to Carole.

Secretly, he'd been watching every interaction with barely concealed interest. In the months he'd known him, Kurt had never seen Blaine let his guard down quite like this. Perhaps it was because his responsibilities were on another continent, the distance changing his perspective of their importance and bringing him out of his carefully constructed shell.

It was the afternoon Blaine went missing for two hours that made Kurt curse the day he became the media's favorite tabloid bed-hopper. Taking a walk, he'd found Blaine down in pediatrics, acoustic guitar on his lap, surrounded by kids of all ages and their relatives. He was taking song requests, teaching the older kids how to form the chords on the guitar strings with their fingers, and making up silly songs for the little ones.

Kurt didn't know how long he watched, nor could he count the times his stomach flip-flopped and his inner monologue cooed at the sight. What he did know was that he hadn't smiled this much in weeks, which was really saying something given the circumstances of their presence in the hospital. He was just as helpless to Blaine's charm as everybody else here.

When day five came around, the day of Kurt's twenty-third birthday, Burt was finally discharged. Kurt had mixed feelings. On the one hand, it was the best present he could have asked for to have his dad safely home again. But was it safe? Could Carole cope? Should he defy orders and stay longer, risking his father's wrath?

No, he couldn't. Kurt's time was up. The bubble must burst. So after a hearty celebration, which included Carole's homemade lasagna and a hasty trip to the store for a last minute birthday strawberry cheesecake, he and Blaine were headed back to the UK the morning after.

"I like him." Burt pulled Kurt to one side when Blaine was preoccupied hugging Carole goodbye. "He's not what I expected, you know, from what I read."

"How much research did you do?" Kurt asked suspiciously.

Burt shifted defensively. "You're my son, of course I was going to investigate."

With a roll of the eyes, Kurt crouched down in front of Burt's armchair and pulled his dad into an embrace, chin tucked on his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

"Love you. No eating junk food, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Dad," Kurt warned.

"I promise!" Burt exclaimed. "And take care of yourself too, okay? And I'm not just talking about your health, bud. Take care of this too." He pulled back from the hug and tapped his finger to Kurt's chest.

"Dad..."

"I like the guy," Burt muttered in his ear. "But if he hurts you, he's toast."

"We're not- I don't- it doesn't matter. I'm not allowed anyway," Kurt fumbled awkwardly. Why was this even a talking point?

"Little piece of advice, Kurt: Don't use a contract to hide from whatever might be going on in there." Burt swiped his hand through Kurt's hair, only to be swatted away affectionately. "You'll hurt more than just yourself that way."

Grumbling, Kurt made his way through the front door and down the garden path to the driveway, bag slung over his shoulder.

"Kurt?"

Burt was hovering by the front door, clinging to the frame to steady his balance.

"Dad! Go and sit down! You only just got out of the hospital," Kurt chastised. Dropping his bag where he stood, he doubled back to gently steer his dad back indoors to his favorite armchair. The one closest to the TV, perfectly angled to keep an eye on the screen and sneak looks into the kitchen.

"Calm down..." Burt wheezed. "Your old man is made of sturdier stuff than you think."

"I just told you to look after yourself. Maybe I should stay. I-"

"Kurt, quit the melodramatics!" Burt cut him off. "I just forgot to say I loved you back, bud."

Kurt visibly deflated at that, shoulders dropping. His lips relaxed into a little smile. "Oh... I love you more."

* * *

><p>"Blaine?"<p>

"Hmm?" Blaine shifted in his seat, laid his head back against the wall of the plane to gaze out the window.

They were somewhere over Greenland.

"Where do you live?" Kurt asked. "I mean like, when you're not in a hotel or travelling the world."

"I bought a place in North London two years ago," Blaine said.

"So… if your home is in London, why don't you stay there more? Why stay in hotels?"

Blaine considered his answer. "The hotel is close to wherever we need to be the next day and, well, you know how little sleep we get. I'd take a lie-in over going home. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah it does," Kurt said, although he was certain there was more to it than that. He could see it in the way Blaine shifted and ran his hand over his hair. Kurt's lip twitched up at the side.

"What?" Blaine asked. He slid the window shutter down, blocking the clouds from view.

"No, it's just... maybe you'd get more sleep if you actually_ slept _at night instead of, you know..." Kurt waggled his eyebrows.

Blaine laughed loudly and batted at Kurt's shoulder. He lifted his feet onto the seat. "Okay, laugh it up. Sex is good for your health. You should try it more often."

"How do you know I don't?"

"Because you're blushing brighter than Rudolf's shiny nose right now."

Kurt pulled his blue cashmere sweater over his nose. "God, I make myself seem so virginal, don't I?" Blaine didn't deny it. "I'm not, you know."

"Virginal?"

"Blushing," Kurt countered and took a swig of water, burrowing his nose back into his sweater.

"Why do you ask anyway?

Kurt shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. I've been to Jeff's parents' house, and Nick and David's apartment in Islington to pick stuff up. You've never asked me to go to your house for anything."

"You've never been to Trent's place either," Blaine pointed out.

"That's because he chooses to live out of his suitcase," Kurt countered. "When he's here anyway. Is it just me, or is he spending more and more time in Wales, when he's not with us?"

"He gets homesick. Back at school, he never stayed for the weekend at Dalton. The bell would ring on Friday afternoon and he'd leave immediately for the train station, moving back into the dorms before curfew Sunday night," Blaine explained over a yawn. "Besides, it's fun to rip off the record company."

"What's your house like?" Kurt asked.

Blaine's lips thinned. "Bare. Too big. Full of one too many unwelcome memories and not enough good ones." Blaine shrugged lightly and busied himself with his iPod, thumbing through his song list.

It was better to let that one go, Kurt decided. For now.

"Quinn emailed your new schedule over, by the way. Harmony Delgada has been booked for tomorrow."

With a groan Blaine slid down the seat and shoved his pillow over his head. "Great... Harmony and jet lag."

"The perfect combo."

* * *

><p>Harmony and jet lag were the perfect combination for a migraine according to Blaine the next day. Kurt spent most of his first day back chained to a desk, answering emails and taking both the band and Wes' phone calls, while Quinn assisted with Operation Diva.<p>

"She can't be that bad, right?" Kurt asked at lunch, popping a fry in his mouth.

"She talked and talked and yelled and talked and squealed and talked and interrupted and talked and-"

"Okay, Jeff!" Kurt held his hands up. "I get it. She talks."

"Do you have any idea what it's like to be stuck in a room with someone who _never _shuts up about themselves?" Jeff exclaimed dramatically. "I thought I was gonna' deck her."

"I'm familiar," he said nonchalantly. "My roommate Rachel is pretty impossible."

"I bet Rachel's a gem in comparison." David grumbled.

Rachel genuinely is a gem in comparison, as Kurt found out his second day back. Everything started out normally enough.

Morning meetings held at Canary Records allow Kurt to get his menial tasks out of the way early, leaving the afternoon to focus on more important things. This could be anything from answering emails, opening mail that came to the offices for Kurt, and sifting through the band's fan letter box.

Starting with his own pile, Kurt took pause when a sealed white envelope fell out of a larger brown envelope. Turning it over, he frowned at the name scrawled on the front: Ben Luvdall.

Kurt looked around, like this person would materialize out of nowhere, pluck the envelope from his grasp and declare it a mistake. No such thing happened. Why would a letter for a complete stranger be enclosed inside an envelope addressed to him?

Shrugging it off, Kurt set the letter aside and got to work separating the fan mail into piles for Trent, Blaine, Jeff, David, and Nick. Before he could screen the letters for inappropriate content though, he froze, recalling an enormous pile of dry cleaning that hadn't been sorted before his abrupt departure to Ohio.

"Shit."

He wrapped elastic bands around the piles of letters, chucking them back in their box, and reached under his desk for the abandoned bag of clothes. Refolding each item inside, he wrinkled his nose at a white and suspicious stain rubbed in at the crotch of a pair of pants Blaine had worn for a chat show a few weeks prior.

With an eye roll, Kurt folded them gingerly and left in search of Blaine, figuring he'd rather know what he was dealing with there.

He located Blaine inside the meeting room, sat on the conference table talking to Harmony. She was a short and thin girl, with dark hair smoothed back in a high bun. Kurt raised an eyebrow at the sunglasses perched on her nose. Indoors.

"Hey Blaine, I tried to get the stain out of these pants before Ohio, but it looks like I'm going to have to send them to the dry cleaners. Do I need to come up with something more PC than the truth?" Kurt asked.

"Oh _you're_ the help!" Harmony exclaimed. "Excellent. If you could grab me a caramel latte that would be super."

"Oh, no, Harmony, Kurt's _our_ assistant, not…" Blaine began.

"Caramel latte?" Kurt interrupted. "Sure. I'll go and ask everyone else too."

Harmony clapped her hands for his attention. "I'm not done. If you could stir the latte before you give it to me?"

"Stir the latte," Kurt parroted. "Got it."

"Oh, and Kyle?"

Kurt's hands closed into fists. He turned back to her, trying very hard not to grind his teeth. "There aren't any flowers in here. Please buy a dozen lilies and set them up over there." She pointed to a small side table. "Flowers make everyone feel creative."

Blaine was looking between them in mortification. "Harmony, no, he's not-"

"A dozen lilies," Kurt said cheerfully, wondering how long it would take to shave her hair off with a standard razor. He wouldn't even release her hair from the bun. Just fetch the sheers and snip. "Absolutely. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll get on that."

In between everything else he already had to do that day.

Kurt closed the door behind him a little harder than necessary, but Blaine slid through immediately after.

"Kurt, you don't have to do any of that," he said, holding Kurt at the elbow between his long fingers. "You just assist _us_, not the people we work with."

"Its fine," Kurt replied tightly. "If she asks for anything else, I'll tell her I'm not her slave."

Kurt made it as far as the corner when a thought struck him.

"Blaine, do you know anyone called Ben Luvdall?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"There was an envelope within an envelope addressed to me, but the inside one is for someone called Ben Luvdall?" Kurt explained.

"No, I don't think so. Oh, wait, no! I mean, yes. He's a friend of Nick's."

"Oh, okay, I'll pass it to Nick then," Kurt said distractedly. That didn't explain why it was addressed to Kurt, but he didn't have time to question it. "I'll see you later, kay?"

"Don't be long now," Blaine teased. "Her highness is waiting."

"We can't have that."

* * *

><p>When Kurt made it back with coffee, the meeting was in session. He maneuvered through the door with practiced ease and stopped short at the sight before him. Everyone, including Harmony's weary representative, was slumped in their seats, varying expressions of irritation evident on their faces.<p>

"…I just think that in this particular part of the song, my voice would be more suited?" Harmony was saying.

"Wait, if this part is more suited to your voice as well, then that means you will be singing," Nick pretended to appraise the sheet music in his hands, "the verses and the bridge, leaving us the chorus. Which you will be singing too?"

"Exactly."

Kurt handed coffee cups around the group, stifling a giggle at the looks the band were aiming at the girl.

"You want to feature on one of _our _songs and leave us as the back-up?" Jeff said, very slowly like he was talking to a child.

"Feature on _your_ song?" Harmony scoffed and took her latte from Kurt without acknowledgement. "Hardly. You guys are lucky I even said yes to this."

"I beg your pardon?" David said.

"Well, don't get me wrong, you guys are talented, but you were manufactured by reality TV," she said with a dismissive hand wave. "You don't even write your songs."

"That's not by choice," Nick bit, scowling at the table.

"I, on the other hand managed to become a household name by myself," she continued. "I don't _feature_ on other people's songs. They _feature_ on mine."

She took a sip of her caramel latte and frowned at the cup.

"Harmony, this isn't-" Wes began, but she had turned her back on everyone.

"Karl!"

Kurt turned on the spot.

"His name's _Kurt_," Blaine hissed.

"Why did you buy me a medium?" she demanded, blue eyes boring into Kurt's. "And this wasn't stirred at all. Do you need idiot instructions? Go get me a skinny one." She set the coffee cup on the table beside her. "And where are the lilies?"

"I was just about to go get them," Kurt mumbled at his chest, avoiding the many pairs of eyes on him. His ears and neck felt warm, embarrassed to be belittled in front of so many of his superiors.

"Harmony, he's not yours to-"

"-Fine, but get the coffee first," she cut across Wes.

"Or… I mean, you could just drink that one and leave what you don't want?" Kurt suggested.

Immediately he knew this was a mistake. She jumped to her feet, latte in hand, and threw the cardboard cup full of caramel latte directly at Kurt. The plastic top popped off mid-flight, coffee spilling onto her intended target.

Kurt yelled out, scrabbling to stop the coffee seeping through his shirt to his chest. Caramel syrup oozed a trail down his waistcoat.

"Or you could just get it right the first time!" she snarled.

Stunned silence followed, open mouthed gawping, and suddenly everyone in the room jumped up. Wes rounded on Harmony. David and Nick held a furious Blaine in his chair. Trent and Jeff hurried towards Kurt, which snapped him out of his horrified daze. Hissing in pain, he backed up, grasped the door handle behind him and threw it open; fled the room before he could do something stupid like retaliate.

Disregarding the gender sign on the door of the nearest bathroom, he startled a female employee on route to the nearest cubicle. He scraped the lock and, forehead to the wall, burst into tears.

He was mortified. Hot tears slid down his face to his already sopping wet and red raw neck. Pulling wads of tissue from the dispenser, he dabbed his skin and cringed as a sharp pain shot up his nerves. Shaky fingers undid his waistcoat, followed by his dress shirt. He used the remaining tissue to blot the coffee without rubbing it in to the fabric, but he knew it would be no use. He'd saved up for months to buy both items from the Alexander McQueen Fall collection, all for them to be ruined by a moronic recording artist with a lack of impulse control.

Kurt threw them against the cubicle wall and slid to the floor, not even caring he was sitting in caramel syrup. A significant amount had drizzled into his jeans anyway.

Was this what the rest of his life was going to be? People treating him like an inconvenience, while he struggled to work out what to do with his life? He thought this type of thing ended with high school, but apparently there would always be someone out there throwing drinks at him.

The door to the bathroom creaked open. "Kurt?" Blaine called out.

"He's in there," the woman from earlier said.

Kurt heard her heels clip clop out of the door and they were left alone. He squeezed his knees to his chest, stifled a sob.

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked.

"No…" Kurt's voice trembled.

"I- can you come out so I can make it better, please?"

"No."

"Kurt…"

"You know, when I was kid, I thought having a drink thrown at you would be like the movies." Kurt laughed humorlessly. "I thought I'd see it happen to men in restaurants. Or I would chuck one at a pig I was on a date with. Something glamorous."

"Yeah...?" Blaine's voice was close to the door now.

Kurt took a deep breath. "I used to have slushies' thrown at me at school."

"Oh… Kurt."

"It wasn't just me. My school's glee club was really unpopular. We used to walk around in raincoats." Kurt chuckled darkly. "At least I knew I could leave school behind though. This is my job, Blaine. How am I supposed to be respected, if shit like this happens to me?"

"Kurt, please, open the door so I can... I don't know, give you a hug? Help you clean up?" Blaine said. "And then we can chalk this whole thing up to experience and never work with that bitch again."

Kurt hiccupped. "Where is she?"

"With a lot of luck, she's already left the building." Blaine said coldly. "I've made it pretty clear I'm not working with her, and Wes seems to agree."

"What about the song?"

"We'll work something out. It's not due out for a couple of months."

Kurt nodded even though Blaine couldn't see it.

"So are you coming out?"

Kurt took a steadying breath and hopped to his feet. The door unlocked, eased open, and an embrace met him.

"Blaine I'm still covered in coffee," Kurt mumbled into his neck, not that he was willing to let go.

"I don't like this shirt anyway," Blaine replied. His hand rubbed up and down Kurt's back soothingly. "Stain it all you want."

Kurt choked a reluctant laugh and pulled back to smile at him. "There's that noble streak again."

"That looks nasty." Blaine's thumb hovered over the pink skin below Kurt's collarbone, and his phantom touch made Kurt shudder away. It was too raw. "Come on, get on the counter."

Kurt did as told, bemused when Blaine produced a first aid kit from the cupboard below the sinks. Pulling a cloth from the kit, Blaine rinsed it under the cold tap.

"Normally I'd get you to put the burn under the tap or find some ice to hold over it, but for now I'm going to dab it with cold water, okay? Until someone who knows what they're doing sees you," Blaine said.

Nodding, Kurt watched Blaine apply the cold, damp cloth to his sore skin and hissed, tongue peeking out between clenched teeth. Harmony had mostly caught his clothes thankfully, but his skin was tender where the liquid had seeped through to his chest.

"Alright?"

"Alright." Kurt gripped the counter, wincing at every touch.

"I'm going to wring the cloth out on the burn," Blaine said, throat clearing awkwardly. "It might get your undershirt wet though."

Kurt hesitated a moment before peeling the undershirt off his torso, over his head. Blaine took a shaky breath, eyes focused on the task at hand. The occasional glance flickered lower, and Kurt could feel his skin heating up for a completely different reason now. He shivered; water dripped over the burn, oozing down his torso to pool in his belly button.

"So… what is that stain on those pants?"

Blaine blinked dazedly back up at Kurt's face and smirked. "My trousers may or may not have been a casualty of a guy who needs to practice swallowing."

"Ew!" Kurt wrinkled his nose up, thankful the subject had effectively killed the atmosphere between them. Was it odd that this felt like a safe topic?

Ten minutes later, Blaine blotted the moisture with a paper towel and blew on the burn to make sure it was dry. Kurt shivered again and took his cue to pull his undershirt back on.

"You okay now?" Blaine asked, thumb stroking at Kurt's elbow.

"Yes. Thank you. Are the boys going to laugh at me?"

"About being assaulted? Hell, No. They're all worried about you. Wes isn't going to take it lightly. They might laugh at you if Jeff's picked out a shirt for you to wear though," Blaine said teasingly. "Mercedes isn't here and I don't think he's forgiven you yet for the handcuff thing."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh, crap!"

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><p><strong>AN: Seems kind of fitting that chapter thirteen is posted on Halloween. The coffee incident in this chapter actually happened to a friend of mine. She was working as an assistant to an actress whose friend lost her temper when my friend got her order wrong. My friend did press charges against her. Although the girl who did it got off a lot easier than she should have.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I'm glad the last chapter had such a good response. I wasn't sure so it's a relief. **

**To the guest who said they want Kurt to have a career and not be an assistant forever, I've never intended for Kurt to remain a PA forever. I'm 12 chapters ahead of you guys and that transition actually starts in this chapter. Remember, Kurt's only been an assistant for 6 months in the story so far, and from experience, it takes time to build up from an entry level role. He's getting there, I promise.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Fourteen<strong>

Festival season was well underway in the UK. Music lovers were coming out in their thousands to camp on muddy fields and squeeze into sweaty crowds. All to watch their favorite bands and recording artists perform live, and feel that unique rush of comradeship when ten thousand people gather together to belt out the same lyrics.

The Warblers played Glastonbury Festival for the first time in late June, which Kurt had come to understand was a huge deal.

"Think Coachella, but with questionable weather," David said when Kurt queried it.

It was the day Kurt bore witness to his first real display of nerves from the boys. David paced the trailers snapping at anyone who pulled him from his focus. Jeff had to lap the VIP area ten times to work off his nervous energy. Nick threw up his lunch. Blaine refused to eat anything, in case he followed in Nick's footsteps. And finally, Kurt learned the mystery behind Trent's nickname, 'Poopy'.

"The 'Panic Poo' strikes again." Blaine grimaced in sympathy when Trent disappeared into the backstage toilet trailer for the fourth time that afternoon.

It took a Google search to work out their uncharacteristic jitters. Glastonbury was the type of festival traditionally reserved for bands that played instruments. While the likes of Jay Z and Beyoncé were the odd exception to the rule, you were more likely to see a band like The Killers, Muse or The Libertines over a boy band like The Warblers.

Chances of their being booed off the stage were high.

Luckily, they weren't booked for the main stage. And when they did go on, the reception was widely positive thanks to the fans who had turned up and formed a barricade of support around the stage, keeping the music lovers who despised acts from reality shows in the back. Well, that and the band decided to veto the usual two step shuffle choreography they were known for, in favor of David, Nick and Jeff playing drums, bass and electric guitar respectively for most of the set, Blaine and Trent handling the lead vocals. The clouds above them unleashed a sudden downpour towards the end of their set, and Blaine took the opportunity to serenade the audience with a slowed down cover of Rihanna's Umbrella on the keyboard.

The rain cleared just as the boys hit the final chorus, and once they had taken their bows and were backstage again, Blaine was convinced it was the power of song that did it.

Kurt coughed something that sounded suspiciously like 'smug bastard', and squealed when Blaine flapped his wet hair at him like a dog, chasing Kurt around the trailers until he slipped on a mud patch and took Blaine down with him.

It took three days for Kurt to rid himself of the mud from that day.

Fast-forward to the beginning of July and the next festival on their agenda was Wireless.

No day was ever alike with The Warblers, but they always started the same, with Kurt locating a coffee shop and dosing the team up for the mayhem ahead. He'd just ordered in a tiny place around the corner from the park, when his phone buzzed in his pocket. These days he was barely fazed by it, multitasking coming easily to him.

"Hello?"

"_Hey stranger."_

Kurt checked the screen. Unknown Number. Puzzled, he wondered aloud why the voice sounded familiar.

"_Should I be offended that you forget your old college friends so easily?"_

College? Wait… English accent, deep and slightly breathy voice… "Adam?"

"_He remembers! For a moment there I thought I had the wrong number. I only left New York two years ago, Kurt. Did you forget me so easily?"_

"You've changed your number!" Kurt exclaimed. "How was I supposed to know it was you?"

"_Touché. So, a little birdie told me you're spending a lot of time in England."_

"Yeah, I practically live here at the moment," Kurt said, and held the phone between his shoulder and ear. He took the two coffee carriers from the barista with a smile of thanks. "I'm a PA for a band, and they're mostly recording over here right now. Are you here too?"

"_Actually, that's why I'm calling,"_ Adam said. _"I may or may not be starring in the West End production of Spamalot right now and I thought, when you get a night off that is, I could secure you the best seats in the house? You can bring a friend and we'll catch up after the show. What do you think?"_

"Oh… are you sure? I mean, I- we didn't exactly leave things on great terms, I…"

"_Kurt,"_ Adam interrupted. _"I'm over it, okay? The time we were together was… well, we were friends first and I'd really like to get back to that, if you're up for a reboot?"_

"I would actually love that," Kurt admitted. "I don't have any friends over here outside of work." It would be nice to be able to see someone who has nothing to do with The Warblers.

"_Well, you do now,"_ Adam said cheerfully. _"Just let me know when you're free. I'll sort everything on my end." _

"Awesome. Listen, can we talk properly later? I'm sort of juggling my phone and ten cups of coffee right now."

"_Oh! Yes. Get back to work, lazy. I'll ring you soon."_

Kurt laughed. "Bye, Adam."

Adam. A little thrill climbed his spine. He hadn't spoken to him in so long. How had he not thought to call him? Okay, Kurt knew the answer to that. He thought Adam wouldn't want to hear from him, in England or not.

"What are you smiling at?" Mercedes asked, when Kurt handed coffee to her ten minutes later. She was sorting through a rack labelled 'Trent' in a trailer set up for stylists backstage.

"Nothing. An old friend just called me. He lives here, so we're going to meet up."

"Old friend, huh?" Mercedes waggled her eyebrows at him.

"…Fine, ex-boyfriend," Kurt conceded. "We dated back in college, but it didn't work out."

"Aww, baby," she cooed. "So is this a meet-up with possibility, or…?"

"No, no… no." Kurt blushed. "It was great while it lasted but, I don't know. I never felt that 'thing' with him. He was lovely and safe and fun, but we never had enough…"

"Sex?"

Kurt pinched her arm, aghast.

She cackled loudly and tried again. "Chemistry?" He nodded his approval of that answer. "I know what you mean. My ex-boyfriend was a college football player and the man worshipped the ground I walked on."

"Why is he an ex then?"

"Because I didn't love him like he loved me," she replied sadly. "The hardest thing I ever had to do was let that boy go."

"Yeah," Kurt understood. Adam was one of the sweetest people in the world. Not _the_ sweetest though; despite his temper there were many qualities he was finding made Blaine deserving of that title. He'd been lucky to experience the firsts that counted with a gentleman though.

"Any word on that Delgada bitch, by the way?" Mercedes asked.

"Bullshit mostly," Kurt grumbled. "Her people want me to sign a settlement."

"You mean, hush money? Oh, _hell_ to the no!" Mercedes exclaimed. "She assaulted you! Who do they think they are?"

"A multibillion dollar record company, with a recording artist worth a lot of money to them," said Kurt wearily. "They want to keep this whole affair out of the press by settling it out of court."

"They must have their hands tied then," Mercedes mused.

"That's what my lawyer said," Kurt agreed. "There's all this legal jargon she had to translate for me, but from what I can tell, I have too many witnesses. Even if her reps tell a sanitized version to the cops, there are seven people backing me up. Plus the photos Wes got Quinn to take"

"How much are they willing to give you?"

"I-" Kurt hesitated. "More money than I've ever seen in my life. More than the maximum fine she'd receive from the courts, but my lawyer thinks it isn't enough because I've got this scar on my neck now and she's loaded…"

Kurt's fingers ghosted over the spot where Harmony did the most damage, just above his left collarbone. The skin had healed over in the last month, leaving a discolored mark that would never return to its original state.

"What do you want to do about it?" Mercedes asked softly. "Lawyers can advise you, but it's still your choice how you pursue this. If you want to let the law decide, do it."

"I just want this to be quick and painless so I can get on with my life," Kurt admitted. "And Canary Records think I should take it. But then if I let myself get paid off, isn't that allowing her to win? If I sign that settlement, I can't comment publicly on what she did. She'll get away with it. And probably hurt someone else she thinks is beneath her. And I have to think about the band too. What if this reflects badly on them in the media?"

Mercedes considered him thoughtfully. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're too good a person for your own good. And I think spending the last six months at the guys' beck and call has made you stop thinking of yourself first. They will come out of this okay because Kitty is damn good at her job, and they did nothing wrong."

"You think?"

"I know," she assured him. "Take a step back, and do what's right by you. It was _you_ she attacked. Okay?"

Kurt nodded at his lap, swallowing thickly. What she was suggesting, putting himself before everyone else, went against every one of his natural instincts. She was right though.

"What are you doing anyway?" he asked.

"Having a crisis, as usual." Mercedes huffed, and wiped a hand over her brow. She took a shirt out of Jeff's rack, pulled a face and hung it back up. "I should've worn my sensible heels today, the amount of running around I'm doing."

"Can I help?"

"If you can pull together five outfits that will match the Warblers style _and_ keep them happy, then by all means, help me. I had this all planned out, but the first fitting went to hell earlier. They all said that what we picked out is meant for a colder day and Jan is off sick."

Kurt took a large gulp of his coffee and rifled through the racks of clothes. It _was_ the warmest morning he'd experienced in London. And he knew first hand that humidity and performance did not mix. Dancing in Central Park on the hottest day of June for a Showcase his final year at NYADA, he very nearly passed out. Whatever the guys wore on stage this afternoon, would need to be loose enough to keep them cool.

Blazers, waistcoats, dress shirts, ties, bowties, cardigans and jeans had been their signature style from the beginning, in keeping with the preppy uniform they had worn on Britain's Got Talent.

"I'm thinking shorts," Kurt said. "Do we have any? Cargos, chinos?"

"No… they usually wear jeans or slacks." She groaned. "What are you thinking?"

"Chinos with short-sleeved dress shirts. Give Blaine a pale pink dress shirt and a black bowtie, Jeff could rock a light blue dress shirt with a dark blue tie which is loose, top button undone. For David I'm thinking camouflage cargos, but instead of a dress shirt, put him in a white polo to keep him cool. Trent can wear a polo too, actually. Green? I think green. Nick? White tank top, open shirt over the top, chinos, no tie. Make sure the shirts are short sleeved, and for god's sake eschew the blazers. The guys will melt out there otherwise."

Kurt stopped and waited for Mercedes to respond. She was too busy gawping. "I thought you were in a rush?" he said.

Spurred to action, Mercedes pulled him into an embrace and kissed him all over his face. "You're a genius- I love you- I could kiss you all over- there's so much to do! Shit, we need shorts!"

"Sort everything else out, I'll make some calls. Okay?" Kurt said, slightly dazed from being manhandled so affectionately.

"Wait, wait," Mercedes called, and pulled a sheet of paper from a folder. "This is the hard copy with the numbers for designers, off the rack retailers' etcetera."

"You're amazing!" Kurt kissed her cheek and left the trailer, phone in hand.

40 minutes later he'd ordered exactly what they needed and set out to pick up the items which couldn't be delivered from the nearest stores. By the time the boys were ready for a second fitting at 2pm, Kurt had somehow managed to coerce, bully and sweet-talk their way into possession of everything needed to throw the outfits' together.

"What do you think?" Blaine asked. He walked out from the trailer set up for changing and did a neat little twirl on the gravel.

Kurt's whistle was low. The chinos he'd picked out for Blaine were a pale brown which matched the pale pink shirt Mercedes had found lurking near the middle of his rack, perfectly. The sleeves were short enough to keep him cool, and if they happened to show off his toned, golden biceps nicely, Kurt did his very best not to linger on them. Black loafers had been selected to match in with the finishing touch, a black bowtie around his neck.

He reached out to adjust the bowtie and smoothed it out. "Perfect." Kurt grinned. "You know how to tie bowties?"

"Yeah…" Blaine ducked his head sheepishly. "I liked them when I was a kid. My brother says I was every girl's wet dream and once held a memorial for the, quote: 'Pussy I could have gotten had I not been gay'. He's kind of an idiot."

Kurt laughed, eyes dancing with amusement. "You should wear them more often. Bowties are adorable on you."

Blaine ducked his head bashfully and bit his lip. "Thanks, I- Mercedes, you've really outdone yourself," Blaine complimented and distractedly brushed invisible lint from his shorts. "Sorry we were such a pain earlier."

"I can't actually take the praise this time, Bee, much as I'd like to." Mercedes elbowed Kurt in the side. "I had a meltdown and this guy put it all together. He's my hero."

Blaine's eyebrows raised in surprise, but it was followed by a burst of laughter. He looked up at Kurt through his lashes. "I really should have guessed you'd be stylist material. You always look like you just stepped out of Vogue."

A blush, crimson and mortifying, spread up Kurt's neck and quickly colored his cheeks a ripe cherry red. He scuffed his foot against the floor. "Well, I did used to work for them."

"I better be careful, or he's going to take my job," Mercedes teased.

Kurt scoffed at that and turned his attention to a scuffle behind them. Nick had tripped out of the trailer door, nudged through by Jeff and the two were now kicking playfully at one another. Jeff bolted sideways and Nick barreled after him, the two disappearing between the trailers, laughter ringing out around them.

"Knock it off you two!" Kurt hollered. "Ruin your outfits I will personally see to it you can't conceive children!"

That did it. Jeff and Nick hurried around the corner, pushing at one another the whole way, skidding to a halt in front of Kurt and Mercedes. Blaine was hanging back near the trailer, arms folded and one ankle crossed over the other as he watched the scene unfold with a fond smile.

"Stop squirming!" Kurt snipped.

Eventually the two calmed enough for Mercedes and Kurt to assess their work when Trent and David joined them. The outfits were perfect. He gave Mercedes a low five and mentally patted himself on the back for a job well done.

It was only a one-time thing, of course. But it was nice to see the results of his handiwork up there on the Wireless stage from the wings.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Sorry this update was later than usual. I try and post every 4 days, but I had a bit of a personal meltdown last week, so it just wasn't happening. Thank you for all your comments in the mean time. I really appreciate the feedback.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Part Fifteen<strong>

Kurt was in a dilemma. It was another week and a half before he had a night off to go and watch Spamalot. Adam confirmed that two tickets were left at the box office for collection, but it seemed ten days wasn't enough time to find someone willing to tagalong.

Trent was headed back to Wales for a wedding, Nick was going to a party, David had a family obligation, and Jeff had already seen the play. Considering Adam is his ex-boyfriend, Kurt felt uncomfortable inviting Blaine along, and Mercedes, his original choice, had blushingly informed him she had a date that night. He'd let that one go with a smirk but it still left him with a conundrum.

The truth is, he hadn't noticed his lack of a social circle in London until he'd awoken the morning of the show resigned to going alone. Sometimes he felt like he didn't even _have _friends outside of work. Despite speaking to Rachel frequently over Skype, she mostly talked about herself, which if he was honest left him feeling even lonelier.

That afternoon was a classic example. He'd taken to bringing his personal tablet to work as well as his company issued iPad, just in case his dad needed to contact him over Skype, something Rachel took advantage of while he was setting up a meeting room. He accepted the call with a quick glance at the time.

"Hey Rach," he called out.

"_Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"_ she screeched.

Kurt took a good look at her on his screen. Her cheeks were flushed like she'd just come out of a dance rehearsal, hair all over her face, eyes shining with undiluted joy.

"What's got you in a bad mood?" he teased.

"_I got it!"_

He paused in arranging glasses on the meeting table. "Got what?"

"_Miss Honey!"_ she squealed. _"I got it! I take over the role in Matilda: The Musical from September 5th!"_

"Oh wow… wow that's… wow," Kurt said lamely.

"_Well don't get too excited."_ She pouted from his screen, put out by his lesser response.

"No, no I _am_ excited, I just... you never said you were auditioning," he excused.

"_What do you mean? Of course I did,"_ she said with a huff, but then covered her mouth with a gasp. _"Oh no, I didn't. Sorry! I was going to but then your dad got sick and it didn't seem like a good time."_

"No, it's fine. That's amazing Rachel, I'm so happy for you," he said meekly.

"_I know, right? I can't believe it. I get to sing and work with children and prove my versatility with an English accent. Do you think anyone you know would help me perfect it?"_

"Oh… maybe? I'm actually seeing Adam tonight. I can ask him."

She doesn't take the bait, too busy planning her next adventure on the Broadway stage to comprehend the significance of his being in contact with Adam.

"_Awesome. Thank you, thank you, I have to get back, but we'll talk strategy later, okay?"_

"Sure… bye."

"_Love you!" _

The connection cut out and Kurt sat, stunned. First Fanny Bryce in Funny Girl, then Nessa Rose in Wicked and now Miss Honey in Matilda. Rachel was really going places with rave reviews, autographs to sign and Tony awards to covet.

Kurt was cleaning up after five boys and getting coffee.

"Sitting down on the job? I can't leave you for five minutes," Quinn said. She was leaning against the door frame, arms folded over her chest tightly.

Kurt jumped from his chair, hand held to his rapidly pulsing heart.

"Jesus! Warn a guy!" he said. "I was just thinking." With a frown in her direction (he could have sworn she was off work for the next week) he scanned down the list to make sure everything was set up. Wes said this meeting was important.

_Four jugs of water – Check_

_Twelve glasses – Check_

_Twelve chairs – Check_

_Buffet table (Croissants, bagels, tea etc.) – Check_

_Coffee maker switched on – Check_

_Laptop collected from Wes' office – To do_

Quinn was scanning the list over his shoulder. Puzzled, he settled the paper back on the table.

"Did you forget something?" he asked her.

"No, I'm working today too," Quinn replied tonelessly.

"…Everything okay?"

"Yes," she snipped.

"Okay…" Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly. "Let me know if you need anything."

He smiled a kind but wary smile and her crinkled brows softened, lips un-pursing. A chair scraped the floor and Quinn settled on it with her hand to her forehead.

"Quinn?" Kurt stepped gingerly towards her. He flexed his fingers to touch her shoulder, but thought better of it.

"My daughter has chicken pox," Quinn said hollowly. He clasped a chair back between his fingers, giving her his full attention, scared to move and remind her who she's sharing with. "I was supposed to be visiting her at her foster mother's in New York this week, but I've never had the pox. We agreed it would be best I didn't go."

It wasn't her idea, Kurt could hear it in her voice, bitterness laced in every syllable.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I hope she's better soon."

"Thanks."

He'd made it to the door when a thought struck him. "Quinn, I-" he broke off, choosing his words carefully. "I've got a spare ticket for Spamalot tonight. Would you like to go?"

"Actually… that would be great." Her returning smile was dim, but warmer than any other she'd ever directed his way. He took that as a win.

* * *

><p>Kurt tapped his foot impatiently against the leg of his desk. It was 6.20pm, which gave him exactly one hour and ten minutes to get back to the hotel, change clothes and find the Playhouse Theatre in time for Act One. Which is doable when meetings aren't overrunning by three hours. He'd sent Quinn home 30 minutes earlier, because she needed to find an outfit, but it left him in charge of clean up alone.<p>

A pile of unopened mail sat at the edge of the desk, some addressed to him, the rest to the boys, so he began ripping them open to distract himself. Fan mail – staff announcement – meeting itinerary – fan mail – an envelope addressed to Ben Luvdall.

Kurt still didn't know who this friend of Nick's was, and the envelopes were arriving weekly these days. Set aside, he tore open the remaining mail, and went back to staring at the wall.

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot against a metal desk leg. 6.25pm. He would have to wear his work clothes at this rate.

He shuddered at the thought. People would know. Well, perhaps he was being melodramatic there, but _he_ would know, and the thought alone made him feel completely uncomfortable.

His fingernail was tap, tap, tapping against the desk when voices finally came from the corridor. Bolting up from his seat, he watched from the entryway as a meticulously dressed group walked into the elevator.

Checking his watch (6.31pm), he deduced that if he skipped a shower, left his hair, threw on his outfit and ran, without tube delays he'd arrive at the Playhouse Theatre with minutes to spare. He acted quickly, locking the newly opened mail in his desk draw, tidying up the buffet table in the conference room, turned off the electrics and marched Wes' laptop back to his office.

6.40pm. Shit, shit, shit. Kurt called a goodbye to the band and sprinted into the elevator. Pressed the button for the lobby. A hand obstructed the door before it closed.

"Kurt! Wait."

Kurt's eyes rolled to the back of his head. "Blaine, can it wait? I'm going to be late," he said.

Blaine cocked his head, hand holding the door. "For what?"

"I'm seeing my ex b- a friend in Spamalot tonight," Kurt fumbled, hoping Blaine didn't catch the slip. "Except I forgot to pick up the outfit I laid out last night. I hoped I'd have more time to get back to the hotel and grab it, but if I'm going to make it for the start of the first act…"

"Come with me."

Kurt shook his head in exasperation; did he have selective hearing? "Blaine, I just said-"

"-I know what you said. Come with me, I've got something for you."

The boy was impervious to Kurt's glares it seemed. Staring after Blaine, he grumbled under his breath when his feet obeyed. Blaine slipped into the hall leading to both Quinn and Wes's office space and veered around the flimsy wall partition, the one hiding Kurt's small desk.

His mouth formed an O, intrigued by the garment bag which hadn't been hanging on his coat peg five minutes ago. "What's that?"

Blaine bopped up and down on his toes cutely, failing to withhold a widening grin. "Take a look."

Curious fingers traced the zip line of the garment bag. Kurt tugged it down to reveal a very familiar waistcoat and shirt ensemble, one which had been ruined weeks before by Harmony Delgada and a caramel latte.

"What? How did you-?" Kurt spluttered.

"When you left the bathroom that day, they were on the floor still in the cubicle. I tried to get them dry cleaned, but apparently they were stained beyond help," Blaine explained. His lip was turned up at the corner sweetly.

"So- so you _bought_ these?"

"Please don't tell me it's too much and you can't take it," Blaine pleaded. "I just know how much you value clothes, and I've seen you wear that waistcoat a few times, so I knew you loved it. I just made a few phone calls, that's all. We get sent a lot from Alexander McQueen for events and stuff. They still had a few in their closet – Mmph!"

Kurt launched himself at Blaine, arms around his neck and barely withheld a joyful squeal.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I love it. I can't believe you-"

Words didn't feel sufficient. Without thinking he cupped Blaine's face in both hands and pressed one kiss to his left cheek, then his right, his forehead and his nose. His head caught up before he could humiliate himself further, and he sprung back as though burned.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no_. His heart hammered against his throat in time with his inner monologue. _What did I just-?_

"Sorry," he squeaked. "I didn't mean to… maul your face. I just- thank you." Kurt ducked his head when he realized that not only were Blaine's hazel eyes wide and glazed over, but they'd darkened considerably; milk chocolate now instead of golden.

"No, no," Blaine said weakly. "I – I would have gone sooner if I'd known you'd react like that." He brushed his curls down at the back awkwardly. "I'm glad you like it."

"Thank you," Kurt said, his smile warm, grateful. "This is new." He traced a finger over the bowtie around Blaine's neck hesitantly. It was light blue with little penguins on it.

"I… found it in a shop the other day. Do you like it?"

"Love it," Kurt said. "Very Christmassy. Even if it is July."

"Penguins exist all year round," Blaine scoffed.

"True."

Belatedly, Kurt realized two things: He was still holding the bowtie between his fingers, and he'd inched closer to Blaine again, his breath tickling against Kurt's chin. He dropped his fingers and took a step back.

"You better get dressed," Blaine said quietly. "You'll be late to see your… friend."

"Oh, right." Kurt lifted the garment bag off the hook. Before he left to change in the bathroom though, he paused in front of Blaine, lifted his chin with a finger from where it rested against his neck, and pressed another lingering kiss to Blaine's cheek. "Thank you," he whispered.

Blaine's Adam's apple bobbed slowly. "You're welcome. Have fun."

"Oh, wait." Kurt unlocked his desk draw to scoop Ben Luvdall's letter out. "Can you pass this onto Nick, please? It's for his friend again."

"Letters for this guy are still coming to you?" Blaine asked.

"Yeah, I should probably talk to Nick," Kurt said distractedly. "I'm okay with it, I'd just like to know what I'm dealing with here."

"I'll talk to him for you," Blaine said firmly.

"Sure. I gotta' go. I'll see you later, kay?"

"Yeah, see you."

* * *

><p>"Looking sharp, Hummel," Quinn said when he met her outside the theatre. "He gave it to you?"<p>

"Who, Blaine? Yes, just now." He preened at the compliment and brushed invisible lint from his new waistcoat. He wished he'd had a better choice of accessories with him at the office, but he could go one night without a standout broach or pocket square.

"I don't think I've ever seen him try this hard to get into someone's pants," she quipped.

"Oh, hush," Kurt said.

Talking about Blaine's interest in him was doing funny things to his nerves lately, setting them on edge, a gentle but insistent pulsing under his skin, a mouse skittering up and down his stomach. The less he thought about it, the easier it was to ignore.

"Thanks for inviting me, by the way," she said. An usher showed them to their seats in the fifth row of the stalls. "It makes a nice change to sitting in my hotel room. And after... well, thanks."

"How old is your daughter? I didn't know you were a mom," Kurt said carefully.

"Not too many people do." Quinn sighed. "Her name's Beth and she turned six a couple months ago."

Kurt checked his watch; the show wasn't due to start for another 10 minutes. "If you don't mind me asking…"

"You want to know why she's in foster care and not with me," Quinn finished for him patiently. "It's okay, everyone asks. Long story short, I fell pregnant when I was sixteen. I got my high school diploma thanks to my mother's support, but getting into NYU made me realize the real challenges were just starting. I'm from Ohio, same as you, so Mom couldn't babysit for me anymore. And even with the support available, I'd never be able to provide for her like I could if I committed to my career early."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Kurt smiled in a way he hoped was encouraging, giving her his full attention.

"It was the hardest decision we ever made, putting her in foster care. Her dad and I chose Shelby because she'd always wanted a daughter. She used to teach at our high school and moved to New York my senior year. We agreed she could raise Beth temporarily, while we focused on growing up, and college and starting careers."

Quinn wiped at her cheek discretely. "When Wes hired me, I thought I'd be in New York more. I thought I'd move to a better position sooner, that I'd be able to make my hours more flexible by now." She chuckled darkly. "Naïve, right?"

"We all are," Kurt said softly. "What about her dad?"

"You know him, actually." Quinn's smile was wry. "I got Puckerman his job with the band when one of the original bodyguards was critically injured. A barrier fell after one of the dates on the world tour, and the fans got out of control."

"Puckerman? You mean, Puck? Noah Puckerman?" Kurt thought back to the picture he'd seen of Beth, how her eyes had seemed familiar.

Quinn was saved from answering when the lights dimmed and the orchestra played the opening bars of the Overture. Kurt quickly checked through the playbill.

_Sir Lancelot the Homicidally Brave - Adam Crawford. _

Kurt snorted. Of all the roles he'd anticipated Adam playing, Lancelot wasn't it. As the play progressed though he had to admit, with only a tiny twinge of regret for himself, Adam was good. By the song His Name is Lancelot in the Second Act, Kurt was crying with laughter.

The final chorus of Always Look On The Bright Side of Life ended the show, and Kurt and Quinn dawdled in the aisle until the crowd thinned and they could make their way to the stage. The steward by the stage door checked Kurt's name off a list and allowed them backstage.

Adam's dressing room door was wide open when Kurt tapped on the door frame, the man in question having already changed back into regular clothing. He spun around with a wet wipe covered in make-up held to his face.

"Kurt, you made it!" Adam greeted.

"Like I would've missed this," Kurt replied. "Lancelot, huh?"

Adam grinned bashfully. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Quinn. Quinn this is Adam. Listen, I'm really sorry but we're up at 4am tomorrow, would it be okay if we met for coffee or something to catch up properly?" Kurt asked regretfully.

Adam's smile fell. "Oh, sure, it's okay. When are you free?"

"Adam, are you coming?" A man's voice queried from the door and Kurt's spine tensed.

Jeremiah Flynn leaned, casual and at ease, against the door frame, blonde curls slightly damp, loose jeans and a fitted sweater clinging to his lean frame.

"Yeah, I'll be right out," Adam called. "Are you sure you guys can't come with us?"

"No, we've both got an early start," Kurt said, schooling his expression into one more genial, less like a deer caught in a hunter's line of fire. "Hi," he said to Jeremiah lamely.

"Kurt Hummel, right?"

Kurt nodded and eyed him warily. How _did_ he know Kurt's surname?

"You…. guys know each other?" Adam looked between them.

"Quinn and I go back a couple of years. Kurt and I met a few months ago," Jeremiah replied with a dismissive wave. "It was at the National Television Awards, right?"

"Really? What were you doing at the NTA's?" Adam asked Kurt.

"He's friends with my ex, Blaine Anderson."

Adam's eyebrows raised. "The Warblers guy?"

"Yes," Kurt said quietly.

"Wait, how do _you_ know Kurt?" Jeremiah asked Adam.

"He's- well we- we met in college in New York. NYADA. We were friends and..."

"We dated for over a year," Kurt finished.

"Oh... _this_ is the Kurt that got away…" Jeremiah trailed off thoughtfully.

Kurt wanted the ground to swallow him up. Considering the rapid drain of color from Adam's face, he did too. "No, no, Kurt and I are friends now," Adam insisted.

"Oh..." Jeremiah finally noticed the tension that had wandered into the room with him. "I'll wait for you to finish and wait by the exit," Jeremiah said to Adam. He disappeared out the door, closing it behind him with a snap.

"I'm so sorry, he's really nosey," Adam spluttered, scrubbing his hands down his face.

"It's fine. I get it. My best friends are Rachel and Santana, remember?"

Adam chuckled. Of course he knew. "I better let you guys go. We'll have that proper catch-up, right?" he asked hopefully.

"Definitely," Kurt agreed.

Quinn waited until the door was closed between them to say, "Okay, now I see why you invited _me_. Blaine and besotted ex-boyfriend wouldn't have gone over well."

"He's not beso- shut up!" Kurt snapped and turned the corner leading to the backstage exit. Jeremiah stood before it, hands deep in his pockets.

"Kurt, can I have a word, please?" he asked.

"If this is about Blaine you can say it in front of me," Quinn said.

Jeremiah ignored her. "Kurt, please?"

The hairs on the back of Kurt's neck stood to attention telling him this was a bad idea. Still, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot and appraised Quinn. "This won't take a second, I'll be out in a minute."

She huffed, zipped up her jacket and yanked the stage door open, closing it with a hard thud. Kurt suspected she only gave in so easily because she would force the details from him later. Fabulous.

"What's up?" he asked, posture straight, chin raised.

"Did you give my letter to Blaine?"

Kurt hesitated. "He received it," he said carefully. "Why?"

"He never contacted me about it, and..."

"Look, I appreciate that you have your reasons to contact him, but I'm not going to be your messenger boy if that's what you're angling for," Kurt replied. "I know he received the letter, but I don't know if he read it. You might want to try a more direct approach."

Jeremiah sniffed his frustration. "Right. You're right. It's just I don't want to have to involve the courts in this. I hoped he'd be more cooperative. I- I don't want to hurt him again, but if he refuses to talk to me, I'll have no choice-"

"Woah, slow down there," Kurt interrupted, hands held aloft to placate him. "I don't know what this is about, and I don't want you to tell me."

Jeremiah eyed him curiously, lip twisted up at the side. "How is he?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Blaine," Jeremiah clarified. "How is he?"

"Good," Kurt answered hesitantly. "I mean he's busy, but-"

"I haven't seen him in the tabloids lately," Jeremiah fished.

"I haven't really looked."

"Kurt, I-" Jeremiah took a step forward and hooked his fingers around Kurt's left shoulder. "I get that you'd rather I didn't involve you in this mess, but if I met you sometime this week, could I give you another letter?"

His thumb rubbed absently at the cotton of Kurt's jacket, an action that forced Kurt to repress a foreboding shudder. No.

"Just this one time," Jeremiah pressed. "I promise I'll leave you alone after that. I just... I need closure, Kurt. And I can't get that unless he and I sort out our differences."

No. He's not doing this again.

"Please?"

The last time he got involved Blaine didn't talk to him for a month. Then again – Kurt nibbled his lip thoughtfully – he did want Jeremiah out of their lives for good.

He took a deep breath. "One time," he said.

He was going to regret this, he could feel it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Spamalot: The Musical was playing at the Playhouse Theatre, London until April 2014. The production is currently touring the UK, but this story is set in 2016. I don't know where they'll be playing 1 1/2 years from now, so I just made an educated guess. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: So, I have over 100 reviews. How did that happen? Thank you for all the lovely feedback. **

**The rating kicks up a notch this chapter. **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Sixteen<strong>

Kurt felt well within his rights to staple a rotten fish to Jeremiah's forehead for involving him in his dispute with Blaine. Had he never heard of email? Kurt had experienced a mostly efficient service from the UK's Royal Mail service; a letter would arrive reliably at Blaine's house with little expense.

Huffing for the seventh time that night, Kurt turned beneath the comforter onto his back. Now he thought about it, he can't remember the last time Blaine went home even to pick up the mail. In fact, he'd never even asked _Kurt_ to pick it up for him, something Jeff, David and Nick regularly called on Kurt to do for them. So if Jeremiah had been sending letters to Blaine's house, would he have seen them?

Stupid. The whole situation was stupid and he wasn't hiding it from Blaine this time. If Jeremiah wanted to meet up, Kurt was letting Blaine know it was happening.

He forced himself from the comfort of his bed, slipped his shoes on and ascended to the top floor of the hotel in his sleep wear. Outside Blaine's suite, Kurt's knuckles were poised to knock when he heard something fragile smash from the other side of the door. He froze in place, heart hammering, breath held, ears strained for signs of distress.

"What was that?" he heard Blaine say.

"Just a vase." Another male laughed. "Oh… right there!"

BANG! Kurt stumbled backwards into the wall behind him. Something was scrabbling against the wood of Blaine's door from the inside. He held his breath, half expecting the doorknob to twist and the two men inside to discover him lurking outside like a creep. He cursed under his breath and willed his blood vessels to stop their treacherous rise to the surface of his cheeks; clearly he should have called ahead.

A loud groan, guttural and unlike any he'd ever heard from Blaine, was muffled against the door and Kurt felt a large percentage of the blood not in his face head in a southerly direction. Mortified, he hurried back down the corridor.

"FUCK!"

The door to the elevator opened. Kurt peered back down the corridor in disbelief. The walls were thick at The Ritz, though apparently not thick enough; he felt for the poor people trying to sleep on this floor.

In fact…

Kurt would later insist he didn't know what possessed him. He rapped his knuckles three times against Blaine's door, deciding it was within everyone's best interests to at least inform them of their volume.

"Did you call room service?" The unfamiliar male murmured.

"No… it's probably my manager. Shit… there! He never – ahhh – leaves me alone," Blaine replied.

"It's Kurt, actually," he called out, and crossed his arms, unimpressed. He sucked his teeth in satisfaction when Blaine swore and stumbled against the other side of the door.

"I- Kurt, I- I'm kind of busy," he stammered.

"I can hear that," said Kurt coldly.

"Who's Kurt?"

"Our assistant."

"Tell him to fuck off then."

_It'll be the last thing you ever do, Blaine Anderson_, Kurt grumbled silently.

The door eased open a fraction and Blaine peered out. A hooded sweater was thrown over his torso. Any moisture in Kurt's mouth sapped dry faster than the Nile on a midsummer afternoon, when he realized the hoodie was tenting above the lower hem, where Blaine's erection rested against his belly button.

Kurt swallowed thickly.

"Hi, I- can it wait?" Blaine patted his wild hair down to no avail.

Kurt's head snapped back up. "I saw Jeremiah tonight," he blurted. _Smooth, Kurt._ "He was in the play and he cornered me."

"I- oh."

"I'm sorry. You're right, it can wait." Kurt backed away, the thrill of interrupting Blaine's booty call overridden by the embarrassment of his own physical reaction to his colleague's state of undress. He was acting like a spiteful teenager and not the twenty-three year old professional he was supposed to be.

"Kurt, go back to your room, please. I just need to sort something. I'll be right with you, okay?"

Kurt nodded and hurried away. Once his own hotel room door was closed behind him, he found his way to the tiny bathroom. Fumbling with the drawstring of his sweatpants he tugged them down his hips, grasped his cock in shaking fingers and set a clumsy rhythm: Up, down, twist. Pre-come slid down his length and he licked his palm for extra lubrication and closed his eyes, moaned loudly, the fantasy playing out in his mind.

_Blaine has him pressed up against the door of his suite, mouth grazing over his neck. His talented tongue trails wetly up to his ear. Teeth scrape over the sensitive skin behind his lobe and Kurt shudders and digs his nails into Blaine's bare back. _

"_Do you want me?" Blaine whispers in his ear. _

Kurt slid down the bathroom wall and spread his legs wide.

_In the fantasy, Kurt has wrapped his legs around Blaine's waist allowing him to hold him up against the door and slot their hard, wet erections together. _

"_Blaine," Kurt whispers against his gaping mouth. _

_Blaine holds him up easily. Hips undulate, Kurt hisses at the friction against his cock, held steady against the door, one hand slipping from Kurt's ass to play with his balls, rolled gently between nimble fingers. _

"_Want me to fuck you?" Blaine asks, voice rough. _

"_Yes."_

_Blaine's mouth hovers over Kurt's a moment, curled up in a satisfied smirk. "I knew you'd give in eventually, baby."_

_Kurt's cut off from replying by Blaine's finger against his puckered hole._

Kurt yelled out his release, coming harder than he'd ever managed with just his hand before. Slumping against the wall of the tiled bathroom, he panted and curled up, rested his head against his knees. Shit. What did he just do? That was…

…Someone was knocking on his door.

Kurt wiped himself off and made sure his clothing was free of semen before heading clumsily to the door. With a breath to steady himself he allowed Blaine inside, thankfully dressed.

"Where's your friend?" Kurt asked awkwardly.

"On his way out," Blaine dismissed.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, head bowed guiltily – both about the interruption and his behavior in the bathroom. Not that Blaine could ever know about the last part.

"No, no. How much did you hear? Actually don't tell me." Blaine grimaced. "Ignorance is bliss."

"Yeah." Kurt eyed him hesitantly.

"What did you mean about Jeremiah?" Blaine said. "Did he hurt you?"

Kurt frowned at the question. "No, he didn't hurt me, he just, he was playing one of the knights in Spamalot tonight. I didn't even notice him until he came into Adam's dressing room, and made everything awkward."

"Adam," Blaine muttered to himself.

"Jeremiah asked to speak with me alone."

"About what?"

"The note he passed to me at the NTA's. I told him to stop trying to get information out of me, but he asked if I could bring another to you. I said I would, just this once and after that no more," Kurt explained.

"Kurt, please, don't meet up with him."

"Blaine, I," Kurt considered his next words. "I'll just grab the note and go, I promise."

Blaine checked the time on his phone. "Look, it's late and we're up in three hours. Can we, I mean, we've got a short day tomorrow, right?"

Kurt nodded. A brief interview on Good Morning Britain, followed by brunch with the director chosen for their next video. The afternoon was wide open.

"I'll wait around until you're done for the day, we'll grab a bite to eat and I'll explain, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt acquiesced.

* * *

><p>A bite to eat proved more difficult than anticipated the following afternoon, because the menu in the pub was made up of dishes Kurt had never heard of.<p>

"What's a Yorkshire pudding?" he queried.

"It's a kind of batter, baked at a high temperature, usually in something circular, and it rises to look like a small bowl," Blaine explained, glancing over the item on the menu. "The one you get here is covered in onion gravy and comes with mashed potato and Yorkshire sausages."

Eyes flickering between the menu and Blaine, he asked, "And- and you call that a _pudding_?"

"There's more than one type of pudding, Kurt."

Kurt shot him a withering look. "… Toad in the Hole? I know the French eat frogs' legs, but _toads_?"

Blaine laughed out loud joyfully. "No, that's just the name of it. Toad in the Hole is actually sausages again, this time coated in the batter that makes a Yorkshire pudding. It's cooked in a dish and served with gravy usually."

"So, it's the same as the other one, just in a different format?"

"Well, the Toad in the Hole doesn't come with mash," Blaine teased.

Kurt scoffed.

"Don't hate on it until you've tried it."

Hands held up in surrender, Kurt muttered the names of dishes. "… Chip butty, sausage butty, bacon butty…" He peeked at Blaine through his lashes.

He was being watched, a lopsided and fond smile trained on Kurt. Elbow on the table with his chin against the palm of his hand, Blaine drawled, "Just ask…"

"What's a butty?" Kurt mumbled, feeling stupider by the minute.

"It's certainly not the fine thing you're sitting on," Blaine quipped with a salacious wink.

Goosebumps erupted up Kurt's neck. He shivered pleasantly, the reminder of the Blaine in last night's fantasy – holding him up, hands everywhere – still fresh in his mind. God, he'd spent all day trying to avoid looking at him, felt a jolt below his navel and a twitch in his pants every time he did so, and it was making his palms sweat and his mind react awkwardly to teasing he usually let go with a quip and a roll of the eyes.

"Are you cold?" Blaine asked.

The afternoon was so warm they'd chosen to seat themselves in the pub garden on a wooden bench. A dark blue umbrella protected the backs of their necks from the heat of the sun, despite a breeze that tickled their bare forearms, the hair on their heads writhing.

"No, I'm fine." Kurt said.

"A butty is just a sandwich with either hot chips, bacon or sausage inside," Blaine explained patiently.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Why don't you just call it a sandwich then? Where does the 'butty' come into it?"

"From the butter you spread over the bread" Blaine said.

"So it's designed to clog arteries?" Kurt deadpanned. "Don't tell my dad about this. His cholesterol does not need the addition of butter to the fray when he makes a sandwich."

Blaine huffed a breath. "Look, I'm going to have a fish finger sandwich, so how about you order one of the meals you've scoffed at and give it a go? If you don't like it, I'll take you to Pizza Hut or wherever. Okay?"

It's not often that Blaine grew irritated with him these days. They'd been extra genial with one another since the first Jeremiah debacle, but Kurt sensed he was wearing his friend's patience thin, so when he went up to the bar (seriously, where are the wait staff?) to order his food, he settled for the sausage butty, figuring if he didn't like it, at least it was a sandwich he could take away and give to Jeff or Nick.

"So, about last night," Kurt began when Blaine had returned from ordering his own food. "I know we talked a bit but, I'm still sorry I interrupted you're, uh…"

Why was it so hard to say it out loud? He knew Blaine had one night stands, it was a joke between them. Bearing witness to it himself had made the subject deeply uncomfortable though, like Kurt had swallowed a lump of coal that lodged in his gut and refused to digest.

Blaine waved his apology aside. "It's fine. I wasn't really in to it, truth be told."

"Didn't sound that way," Kurt said, and cringed at his own tone; bitter and accusatory.

"I'm a good actor," Blaine shot back easily. "Strangers are becoming less and less appealing."

"…Oh."

They were silent for a while.

"You know you're better than that, right?" Kurt said.

"Better than what?"

"The one night stands," Kurt clarified. "I- I think you deserve better than what you're settling for."

Blaine exhaled heavily and rubbed his hand over his hair awkwardly. "Kurt, I haven't slept with anyone since before Ohio," he mumbled. "That guy who wrecked my trousers was the last to get even close to it."

"I... oh." But that was back in early May. He hadn't had a one night stand in two months? "Sorry, I- I didn't know."

"Last night was just... someone said something I didn't like and... he was there. We didn't get that far. I-"

"Blaine, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Kurt said.

"Yes, I do." Blaine tipped from side to side in his seat. "I couldn't give a shit what anyone else thinks of me, but... you I do. And I know how you feel about casual sex. I don't want you to think less of me, and you've made it pretty clear that you do and-"

"Blaine. I don't like one night stands-"

"That's what I just said!"

"No, listen to me," Kurt snapped, leaning forward so he's not overheard by the patrons around them. "You're right. I don't care for them. I think they're degrading, and you don't know how many diseases the other person has picked up. The one time I went home with a stranger... I felt like shit the next day. But that's just _me_. One rule doesn't suit everyone, and I don't want you to think I'm judging you for thinking differently. I'm sorry if I've been unfair to you about that."

"...What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you deserve better, because I can see that it doesn't make you happy," Kurt clarified, shaking his head sadly. "I know bravado when I see it, Blaine. And I think you deserve to go home to a really nice guy who loves you, and only wants_ you_. Not a quick fuck in a bathroom or whatever it is you do. I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, obviously, but..."

"No, you're right," Blaine interrupted. "I want more."

"Then stop looking in the wrong places," Kurt said passionately, taking Blaine's hand over the table. "You're allowed to be loved, Blaine."

Blaine was fascinated by their fingers, slotting his own hesitantly between Kurt's. "I don't need to look," he said. "I know who I want."

"Then, why not-"

"Because I can't have y... him."

Blaine caught Kurt's eye, and left him reeling from the intensity. His molten hazel eyes burned through Kurt's skin, leaving its mark deeper than any coffee cup thrown by a diva ever could. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and he swallowed thickly, willing his pulse to return to a normal state of rest.

Blaine withdrew his hand back into his lap and cleared his throat. "He's manipulating you," he said.

Kurt blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry, who?"

"Jeremiah."

Ah. The topic is finally broached. "He's not."

"I guarantee he is. Oh, thank you." Blaine smiled at the waitress placing their sandwiches on the table. She blushed, eyes only for him and Kurt rolled his own. Sometimes he forgot that Blaine was both handsome and famous. "I don't know how to make you understand this without… he makes himself seem so genuine and concerned, like… like you're the most important person in the world to him."

Kurt cocked his head, his sausage butty left untouched. Blaine circled the bench to seat himself beside Kurt.

"The thing is… the thing is he likes playing games. I don't know if he knows who you are to me or what, but nothing he has done or said has been without a purpose."

Kurt bit his lip and appraised the boy before him. He'd felt, since Wes hired him, like strings too many people were allowed to tug had been attached to his wrists. Such is the life of an assistant, but it doesn't end at work for him. The lines that yank his loyalties towards this frustrating, idiotic, beautiful boy, were not made from yarn; they were vines, thick and unyielding, stronger than any promises he could make to others.

"Blaine, I'm not, like, attracted to him or anything," Kurt argued weakly.

The man gave him the creeps, actually.

What if Jeremiah wasn't bluffing though when he said Blaine's lack of communication could hurt him in the long run? Sometimes people needed protecting from their own clumsy indecision, Blaine more than most given his occupation.

"Please, he's not worth knowing, even in passing." Blaine looked around covertly to make sure they weren't being observed and cupped Kurt's face in his warm palm.

Kurt jolted at the touch. The vine tightened its grip. "I- okay. Whatever you want."

"Thank you." Blaine dragged his plate over to take an enormous bite of his fish finger sandwich. That was all the cue Kurt needed to remember his own. He held the butty gingerly in his hands and took a delicate bite of a corner, making sure the piece had bread, sausage and butter combined.

"Oh my god, this is actually really good!"

Blaine grinned. "Try it with ketchup too."

* * *

><p><strong>Unknown (15:34): Hi Kurt. I got your number from Adam. When can we meet up? Jeremiah<strong>

**Jeremiah (16:09): Hi, me again. I'm going to be in a pub called The Moon Under Water in Leicester Square on Thursday evening. I would be really grateful if you came. Thanks. **

**Jeremiah (21:56): Look, I promise I'll leave you alone after this. Please? We'll be there about 7ish. **

**Kurt (23:07): I'm working but I'll see if I can swing by.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: As ever thank you for the feedback. You guys are so generous with your praise. On we go with the story.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp –Chapter Seventeen<strong>

Kurt had no intention of swinging by The Moon Under Water to see Jeremiah that Thursday. In fact, he was determined to make sure he didn't have the time, so when he found himself with nothing to do after 4pm, his usual duties completed with uncharacteristic speed, he was more than happy to take up Mercedes' offer to help her out that afternoon.

The Warblers were gearing up to begin promoting the single Harmony Delgada was supposed to collaborate on, and Mercedes and her boss Jan were running all over the place in preparation.

"Jan's busy interviewing people for a short term internship with us," Mercedes explained when Kurt followed her into their workshop. "But until she's done, I'm pretty much being left to my own devices."

"Why do you need the extra help?" he asked.

"They're filming the music video for True Enough For You in two weeks, and the guy they've hired to direct has this really specific vision that requires at least five costume changes across the three days of filming," she said, and chucked a folder on the work bench in front of him.

Kurt settled himself in his usual chair – he'd been spending more and more time with Mercedes to get his fix of lady chat and fashion – and opened the folder curiously.

"What's in here?"

"The top pages are the concept pitches that were sent in by the director," she explained. "The guys haven't decided which ideas to throw out yet, so we usually brainstorm potential wardrobes at this stage to cover all bases. With Jan away it's harder to make ideas flow," she said.

"Which is where I come in?"

"Which is where my man comes in," she said fondly and sat beside him, watching quietly as he read through the pitches and glanced over the storyboards which had already been drawn up.

"Why do some of these have storyboards and others don't?" he asked.

"The guys have said yes to the sequences already storyboarded. The rest are probably going to be cast out." She rubbed her fingers over her temples tiredly.

"Hey, be glad the boys aren't like Gaga, Katy Perry or Adam Lambert," he teased. "You'd have a lot more work to do."

"I actually kind of wish they would agree to being a little more imaginative with their wardrobe," Mercedes admitted glumly. "Don't get me wrong, I love my job. They're really easy going about what we pick out for them, I just- I decided to go down this avenue because I loved the direction fashion was taking in the music industry. I wanted to work with Beyoncé and Katy Perry, the people who use fashion to personify the music. I imagined they'd love my ideas, hear me sing, insist I collaborate with them and before I know it I've got a fashion house of my own, a record deal and five Grammys behind me. With the exception of Jeff, who I know would happily be a little edgier, the others just don't care for creative fashion choices."

"We could always pitch something more creative to them," Kurt suggested.

"I've tried."

"Maybe you're pitching it wrong..."

Mercedes placed her hands on her hips and nodded for him to continue. "Keep talking."

He drummed his fingers on the workbench. "How much longer do you think they can get away with the school boy routine before it starts to get a little tired?" Kurt began.

She thought it over. "Now Trent has turned eighteen, maybe a year or so," she replied.

"Exactly. If they want to transition from teenage heartthrobs to adult recording artists that everyone takes seriously, they're wardrobe needs to grow with them. No more school uniform-esque outfits."

"You think we should ditch the blazers?"

"No, not right away," Kurt reassured her. "I just- I don't know, I feel like maybe they should stop being uniformly preppy and dress how they would on an actual night out. It could help warm the audience up for creative concepts. If you explained to them how it would help them grow as artists, they might be a little more… receptive."

"Or if you did it." Mercedes smiled at him knowingly. "All you've got to do is work the flirt and Blaine would be on board."

"I'm not seducing Blaine into updating his wardrobe," Kurt cried.

"So you admit you could?" She yelped when he threw a pile of fabric swatches at her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. For what it's worth though, I know you were all stuck on being a Broadway star, but you'd make an awesome stylist."

"No I wouldn't." Kurt scoffed. "I don't have the credentials for that."

"Screw credentials, everyone knows it's who you know and talent that gets you anywhere in this business, and baby, you've got both."

"What are you up to?" Kurt eyed her shrewdly.

"Okay, I've been thinking about this for a while and, I really think you could do this," Mercedes said. "I've talked to Jan and showed her what you helped me with at Wireless Festival. She agrees having you working with us would be great."

Kurt blinked owlishly at her. "I don't understand."

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "We. Want. You. To. Help. Us. Out. Like, an internship but in between your actual duties, because Wes would have a fit if we outright stole you. You're the longest assistant the boys have ever had. He's not going to give you up easily. But if you were to transition naturally from assistant to assistant stylist, he wouldn't be losing you." She held her arms up in triumph. "It's a win-win."

"Mercedes, _you're_ the assistant stylist," Kurt pointed out.

"I won't be forever. Sooner or later people will move on. When Jan leaves, she wants me to move up to her job, which will leave an opening for someone _really_ talented who knows the boys and would be an asset to the team." Mercedes beamed at him. "I'd hire you now if I was in charge."

"Because I helped you out for one day?" Kurt spluttered. "No, I- no. Thank you for the offer but I- I don't think it would work. I barely have time for myself, let alone working with you too. I'd never sleep."

Mercedes appraised him, stunned by his reluctance. Clearly she'd thought it would be an easy sell. "Okay," she said eventually, and walked around the work bench to take the seat next to Kurt. "What gives?"

"I don't understand the question," he said guardedly.

"Why are you sabotaging yourself?"

"I'm not!" Kurt exclaimed. "I just don't think this is a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because I… my resume doesn't stand up against other people."

"Bullshit," she snapped, and narrowed her eyes. "You worked for _Vogue_. They don't hire any idiot."

"Oh, for the love of-" Kurt huffed loudly and turned his body to face her properly. "Why are you pushing this? I said no. Is that so hard to understand?"

"Yes, it is. I don't get why you're against the idea," Mercedes retorted. "You're talented, Kurt. I know you feel you've lost your way since college, but people in your position should be using this time to find what they actually _want_ to do."

"Mercedes," Kurt began.

"No, I'm talking!" she cut across. "You are in an entry level role. You're not going to be their assistant the rest of your life. Sooner or later you need to think about where you want to be. I know your job doesn't leave you much time to yourself, but what's the harm in gaining experience while you have access to it?" she reasoned.

"But I don't know where I want to end up!" Kurt snapped. "I thought I knew. Ever since I was a kid my plan was always Broadway. I trained for it, I built my whole life around it. I was rejected from NYADA first time around, but I kept at it because I was determined to get there anyway. And then I trained for four years only to be told even my _best_ would never be enough, because I would _never_ get out of the chorus."

Kurt blinked back tears, reliving the pain those words had inflicted on him.

"My best friend was cast as Fanny Bryce in the Broadway revival of Funny Girl her freshman year of college. She went out to LA and starred in a TV show. And yeah it tanked after one season, but she still gets roles. I was a flying monkey in Wicked when she was playing Nessa Rose on Broadway, but only because a cast member was injured and she pestered them into hiring me. Rachel's just been cast as Miss Honey in Matilda: The Musical, and I'm picking up after five boys who won two Grammys last year, have two hit albums and another on the way."

He wiped at his face.

"Honey…" Mercedes pulled a box of tissues out of nowhere and offered them to him. "You can't compare yourself to other people. Just because the right opportunities found them earlier, doesn't mean your calling isn't right around the corner waiting for you to seize it. You're too talented to give up on what you want. I don't know if you want to perform on Broadway, become a stylist, design a fashion line or right a damn novel. Whatever you decide will happen though, because I will kick that white-boy butt of yours until you stop moping. I never thought you were the type to not even _try_."

"I never used to be. Life in New York; working in a diner, missing auditions because no one would cover my shifts, feeling guilty because Rachel paid the lions share on our apartment while Santana and I scrabbled for change. It just wore me down." Kurt trailed off. "What if what I choose isn't the right way?"

"We'll open another door and find a new path," she replied, smiling sweetly. "You are too young to be this jaded, baby. You know, I spent three years selling CDs from the trunk of my car, before I realized I needed to consider other options too. Please, please think about helping me out? I'll talk to Wes for you. Hell, I'll talk to Blaine and he can talk to Wes, if that's what it takes."

"Why would Blaine talk to him? I'd have less time for the guys if I was helping you," he asked suspiciously.

"Why wouldn't he? Blaine gave me the idea in the first place."

"He _told_ you to do this?" Kurt asked, affronted.

"No." Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Put the claws away, Kurty Kat. He hasn't mentioned anything. When you helped me at Wireless Festival, he said he should've known you'd be stylist material."

Kurt deflated at that, mulling the idea over. Would he be a good stylist? Sure, he'd been keen on dressing himself to the latest fashions his whole life, and his internship at Vogue and the eventual part-time position he'd had throughout college had certainly proven his mettle when faced with the fashion industry. There was just so much responsibility that came with dressing other people. What if Wireless Festival was a fluke?

"I can hear you over-thinking from here, Kurt. Stop it," Mercedes chided.

"I'll consider it, okay?"

"That's all I'm asking."

* * *

><p>"Well, I think it's a good idea," David said, when Kurt brought up Mercedes' idea during a rare night off.<p>

David, Blaine, Jeff, Nick and Trent were gathered in Trent's suite with booze and movies. It was reminiscent of their boarding school days apparently and Kurt encouraged it. For all the time they spent together, it was rarely just to socialize. Kurt had been roped in when he'd purchased alcohol for the occasion. Three rum and Diet Coke's later he felt loose, buzzed, not entirely disgusted by Jeff's choice of movie.

"I don't know," he said. "I've got my hands full with you lot."

"Blaine, tell him he should help Mercedes out and see if he likes styling people." David prodded Blaine on the back.

Rolling over on the carpet, Blaine stretched his arms over his head. "It's an amazing idea," he said.

"I already know I like styling people," Kurt said. "I used to give my toys and my dad makeovers all the time. My stepmother needs all the help she can get." He still sends her links to clothing, in the hope she'll take the hint and stop reverting back to the 80s.

"Of course you should do it, you fecking egit," Nick piped up. "I know Wes calls your job 'babysitting', but we don't _actually_ need you to hold our hands through everything."

Phone buzzing in his pocket, Kurt passed Blaine the bottle that was out of his reach since rolling over, and studied the screen.

**Adam (21:34): Kurt! What are you doing tomorrow night? Me and a few friends will be in a pub in Hoxton if you want to tag along? Let me know **

He cocked his head thoughtfully. They were meant to be meeting the day before the band flew to Los Angeles to film the new video, but seeing Adam sooner would be nice.

**Kurt (21:35): I'll be there.**

**Adam (21:36): Yay.**

"I meant to ask by the way, what's going on about Harmony Delgada?" David asked.

"I have a settlement meeting at the offices next week," Kurt replied, sipping from his glass. "Harmony will be there with her lawyer and a rep from her record company. I just have to bring myself, my lawyer and a witness apparently."

"You going to take it?"

"The money? Thinking about it."

"At least you could invest it in something useful," David said with a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah." It was true, but it didn't make him feel better about being paid off.

Feeling something against his shoulder, he smiled fondly at the distraction that was Blaine, now sat up, nuzzling his nose tipsily against Kurt's shoulder. He was warm, curly hair tickling Kurt's neck. Kurt repressed a pleasant shudder.

"Your jumper's cozy," Blaine said.

"My what?"

"Sweater," David supplied. He was smirking at Blaine.

Oh. "You sure it's not just that Borat hair cushioning you," Kurt joked. His hand fell to rest on Blaine's neck, and his fingers played idly with the short hairs at the back.

"Don't!" Trent groaned. "It took us years to convince him not to use a bottle of gel a day to flatten it."

"Oh, that's why you wear so much gel on stage?" Kurt asked.

"Keeping up the old image," Blaine mumbled sleepily. "And I don't have Borat hair."

With a roll of the eyes, Kurt vowed to make sure Blaine knew his hair was adorable, be it an afro, a gelled helmet, or total baldness.

* * *

><p>When Kurt arrived in Hoxton the next evening, he felt a little funny, an odd niggle of unease. Not that he could work out why. Reacquainting with an old friend wasn't cause for concern. Adam waved him over when he entered the pub and after a few brief introductions to his rowdy friends, some from the theatre others not, the two settled in a corner, drinks in hand to catch up on one another's lives since they split up in New York.<p>

It was nice. Times with Adam were always nice.

It was an hour into their evening when his nerves made sense. The door to the pub swung open, letting in the evening breeze and with it two of the last people Kurt wanted to see: Sebastian Smythe and Jeremiah Flynn.

"You guys made it!" Adam called and shook their hands individually. "Kurt, you remember Jeremiah, of course. Have you met Sebastian?"

"Yes," Kurt said, trying to arrange his mouth into a shape that resembled a smile.

"Princess!" Sebastian looked him up and down with a smirk. "You're wearing boy clothes. Did you get lost in the wrong department?"

"Seb," Jeremiah said sharply. "Leave him alone. Nice to see you again." He smiled easily and pulled Kurt in for a hug, grazing his lips against Kurt's cheek long enough for the sensation of a thousand spiders to crawl up his back and neck. He suppressed a shudder.

"I'm good, how are you?" Kurt asked, jaw tight.

"Good thanks. We'll get drinks and join you," Jeremiah said, headed to the crowded bar with Sebastian at his rear.

"You never said they were coming," Kurt said, wincing at his own sharp tone.

"Is that okay?" Adam asked. "Sorry, I know Jeremiah was a bit much last time and Sebastian's…"

"An ass," Kurt bit.

"Yeah…" Adam ducked his head resignedly. "They're kind of a package deal at these things."

"They're dating?" Kurt asked, surprised.

"Uh, no." Adam wrinkled his nose at the thought.

"Do you just know Jeremiah from the show?"

"No, the pair of them attended the same drama school as me," Adam filled in. "Then Sebastian's modelling career took off, I moved to New York for NYADA and we lost touch, until Jeremiah was cast in Spamalot a couple of months ago." He frowned at Kurt, who was apprehensively eyeing the bar. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Kurt said faintly. "Jeremiah just keeps trying to pass notes to me for his ex."

"Blaine?"

"Hmmm. Its grating on my nerves. I had to change my number to get him to stop texting me. You know, after you gave it to him."

Adam blanched at the cold glare he received. "So, that's why you changed it? Sorry, I didn't realize it was a big deal. I won't pass on the new one if it's a problem."

"I would appreciate that, thanks."

The air was awkward when Sebastian and Jeremiah returned with their drinks. Or perhaps it was just Kurt. Sipping his cocktail took up most of Kurt's focus for the next 45 minutes, preferring to let the other three interact rather than join in on the banter between his ex-boyfriend and two people he'd rather forget existed.

Eventually his bladder began to ache. He excused himself and made his way into a cubicle in the bathroom, noting there were two men at the urinals. They may not know his sexuality, but he'd learned early on he was better off avoiding urinals. Homophobic accusations from drunk men in public bathrooms were awful.

The door opened and he heard the shuffle of two sets of feet, just as he was ready to flush. Unlocking the cubicle, he startled at Jeremiah's presence by the door.

Kurt smiled politely. "Oh, hi, I thought it was only me in here now."

Jeremiah shrugged. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Okay." Kurt was tipsy, but that peculiar feeling was nagging at his stomach again. He kept a close eye on Jeremiah in the mirror as he washed his hands and pulled a paper towel from the dispenser.

"You didn't come last week," Jeremiah began.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I had so much to do that I couldn't get away."

"I was beginning to think you were avoiding me," Jeremiah admitted.

"No," Kurt said too quickly. "I just had a lot to do."

"So you said…" Jeremiah flicked his bangs out of his probing eyes. "You don't like me."

"I don't know you," Kurt replied. He threw the paper towel in the recycle bin and made to walk back to the door. Jeremiah stepped to the side, blocking him.

"Do you want to get to know me?" he asked.

That gave Kurt pause. Jeremiah was not so discreetly looking Kurt up and down with an approving smile. Kurt wished he'd worn looser pants.

"I – look, I said that I would pick up the note," Kurt began cautiously. "After that, I'm sorry, it would be too weird. I think it would be better if you stopped contacting me."

Jeremiah appraised him, nose scrunched in distaste. "Your loyalty to Blaine is… touching."

"Do you want me to give him the note or not?" Kurt asked, ignoring that comment.

"Actually, I'd like to get to know you." Jeremiah stepped over the imaginary line marking Kurt's personal space. "_Really_ well."

"… Thank you for the offer? But no. Look, I've got a pad of paper and a pen in my bag. You can write it out there."

Jeremiah laughed. Loudly. "Are you really this stupid?"

Stupid was not a word Kurt associated with himself, but as Jeremiah stood before him, he began to wonder if perhaps this time he had been. If Adam's inviting him hadn't been his idea after all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I am so sorry for the cliffhanger! It's just how this and the next chapter ended up panning out. I'm gonna' hide now.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Once again I am so sorry for the cliffhanger. I don't blame any of you for hating me for that. Here's the second half. **

**Trigger warning: Attempted non-con within the first 600 words.**

* * *

><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Eighteen<strong>

"Look, can we please just drop the bullshit?" Kurt said uneasily.

A shock of adrenaline was coursing through him. Had Jeremiah put Adam up to inviting him tonight? Lovely, sweet, gentle Adam who was jumping at any chance to reconcile with him and wouldn't think his cast mate had an ulterior motive for doing so?

"_The thing is, he likes playing games,"_ Blaine's voice whispered. _"Nothing he has done or said to you has been without a purpose."_

"Look, just hand it over and we can forget we ever had this conversation," Kurt said, trying to clamp down on his growing panic. He felt queasy, his inner control freak uncomfortable with not knowing the direction this conversation was headed.

"Yeah… about that. Blaine called me the day after we last talked and I gave him all the details I was going to write in that note anyway, so, I've actually got nothing to give to you," Jeremiah said. His eyes widened comically and he shrugged as if to say 'whoops.'

Kurt pursed his lips and counted to ten in his head. "So you got Adam to invite me so you could do what, exactly?" he bit through gritted teeth. "As a joke? Well, ha-ha. Thank you _so_ much for wasting my time."

"What's the problem?" Jeremiah sneered. "It's what you do for a living anyway, right? Pick up after Blaine and his buddies."

"I -" Kurt blanched, thrown by the comment. "What?"

Jeremiah's mouth twisted up at the side. "To cut a long story short," he said slowly, "something never added up with yours and Blaine's relationship. It was quite easy to work out once I realized you and Adam knew one another. He's a lightweight. A couple of beers later and I knew about your work with The Warblers."

Lies. He knew Kurt's full name before they first spoke at the NTAs.

"Goodbye, Jeremiah," Kurt said.

"You don't want to stay?" Jeremiah asked, with a coy tilt of the head. He stepped closer.

"No, thank you." Shoulders rising to his ears, Kurt's arms wrapped around his stomach defensively. "I'd like to go, actually." He slapped Jeremiah's hand away when he tried to grasp Kurt's waist.

"Come on, you're gorgeous, I'm gorgeous. Don't tell me you haven't thought about it," Jeremiah coaxed.

"I really haven't," Kurt retorted coldly, and he would have made his way to the door, except Jeremiah got there first and leaned back against it. "Get out of the way."

"One teensy little fuck?"

"No. Thank. You."

Jeremiah flicked his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. "Tell you what, blow me and you're free to go."

SMACK!

Jeremiah's head knocked to the right with the force of Kurt's palm against his left cheek. Pressing his hand to his stinging pink face, Jeremiah twisted his neck uncomfortably and glowered at Kurt, who was only too happy to meet his gaze with equal contempt.

"What the fuck is it with men like you?" Kurt bellowed. His heart was racing from finally, _finally_ releasing his frustration on a deserving victim. He'd had enough. Harmony Delgada and the jocks at school may have gotten away with treating him like a dispensable nobody, but there was no way in _hell _he was about to let it happen again.

"Do you have a filter on the word 'no'?" Kurt continued and stepped closer to Jeremiah, squaring his shoulders. "I don't want to fuck you. I don't want _you_ to fuck _me_. You're repulsive. No. No. NO. Whatever this stupid game is you're playing, I'm ending it. Move!"

He reached for the door handle but Jeremiah, with surprising strength, propelled Kurt back into the opposite wall, narrowly missing the hand dryer. Then Jeremiah was on him, pinning Kurt with his full weight, knee between his thighs.

"Get _off _me!" Kurt spat.

"Shut up," Jeremiah said, voice low, unbuckling his belt.

"Is this the only way you can get laid now?"

Jeremiah pressed his palm against Kurt's mouth. "SHUT. UP."

Kurt bit down on the flesh against his teeth. Jeremiah snatched his hand back with a growl and missed the knee swinging up into his groin. Kurt watched his eyes bug out of his skull. With a howl of pain, Jeremiah stooped low enough for Kurt to grab him by the top of the head and slam his nose into Kurt's knee with a satisfying crunch.

"No."

Kurt watched Jeremiah to collapse to the floor, one hand pressed to his nose, the other cupping his balls.

"FUCK!" Jeremiah howled.

Not keen to give him a chance to retaliate, Kurt hurried past him to fumble for the door handle, yanked it open to run straight into Sebastian, who gawped at him before letting out a long sigh. Like he'd come across this scenario before, like Kurt's appearance had been altered from how he'd last seen him. And it had, Kurt realized with a surprised whimper; Jeremiah had ripped the top buttons off his shirt.

"What did he do?" Sebastian asked seriously.

Kurt straightened his back, chin raised. "Tell him if he touches me again I'll do more damage."

He'd made it to the far end of the corridor when Sebastian let out a low whistle. His head was inside the bathroom.

"You did a number on him," said Sebastian. "Not such a frightened little twink, eh?"

Not dignifying that comment with an answer, Kurt made his way unsteadily to the bar, where he was supplied with a shot of tequila and a Cosmopolitan. The barman eyed him curiously, but he adopted a false smile and willed his pounding heart to slow, for the mix of panic, disbelief and hatred knocking about in his mind to die down to a manageable thud. Kurt threw back the tequila to steady his nerves, slapping the lime back down on the bar before leaning his forehead against his palm.

He felt like an idiot. How did he end up in situations like this? Was there a message written on his forehead in invisible ink that read: Easy target?

His self-pity was short-lived. Adam nudged him in the side.

"Hey, there you are," he said cheerily. He zeroed in on Kurt's missing buttons and raised his eyebrows past his beanie hat. "Wait, what happened?"

Kurt fished his tiny straw around his Cosmopolitan uneasily. "You know how I told you Jeremiah wanted to give me a message?" Adam nodded. "Turns out the message wasn't what I thought."

He busied himself sipping while the cogs turned in Adam's brain. He didn't want to repeat it out loud. Saying it would make it real. He needed it not to be. Just until the morning. Everything felt more manageable in the light of day. Adam's jaw hung limp when he worked out what Kurt wasn't saying.

"Please tell me he didn't?" he sputtered. Kurt did no such thing. "I'll kill him!"

"Don't," Kurt exclaimed, and held him by the arm to prevent him going into the bathroom. "I'm fine. I took care of it."

"You can't just-"

"Leave it," Kurt said sternly. "You still work with him. There's no point making an enemy on my account."

"Sod that, Kurt," he exclaimed. "He just- I just can't believe he'd- he really did that?"

Kurt nodded hesitantly. "He didn't get very far."

An involuntary shiver coursed down his spine, tingly and foreboding. What if he had?

He brushed aside that thought, startling when he saw Sebastian walk by, hand tight at the scruff of Jeremiah's jacket. He steered his friend through the throngs of people and shoved him out the front door, pausing only to look over his shoulder and catch Kurt's eye.

Looking away, Kurt faked a tight smile and nudged Adam's drink towards him. "Come on, drink up. I can handle myself. His bruised testicles are testament to that."

Adam chocked on a swig and faced the ground to cough up his lungs. The front door closed, allowing Kurt to breathe a little easier.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt lied. "I just want to go home."

Surveying him like he knew Kurt was lying, Adam sighed loudly. "Look, can I at least make sure you get back to your hotel?" he asked. "It's my fault you're here."

"No, thank you. I'm not a damsel in distress."

"I never said you were!"

"Then don't treat me like one," Kurt challenged.

Adam bit his lip shyly. "You never used to mind when I walked you home."

Kurt's glare softened. "That was different," he said. "We were together then."

"Twinkle!" Sebastian was back.

Kurt scowled at the bar. He'd hoped meerkat face had left.

"Where's Jeremiah?" Adam demanded.

"Oh, for the love of-" Kurt aimed a glare at Adam that had the recipient holding his hands up in placation. "Just stop it."

"In a cab home," Sebastian responded, attracting the barman's attention. "I kind of had to, what with Blaine being on his way."

Kurt blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Sebastian grimaced sheepishly. "I've been wondering why you're here without Blaine all night, so when you and Jeremiah went into the bathroom, I texted him."

Kurt stared at Sebastian incredulously. "I don't understand. Why shouldn't I go somewhere without Blaine?" Kurt thought back to the first time they met and his eyes widened. "Oh, wait, you think we're a couple, don't you?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. "You're not?"

"No?"

"Could have fooled me." Sebastian accepted a shot from the barman. "You were his date at the NTA's, acting all cozy and shit. And then Blaine asked me f..."

"Blaine asked you what?"

"Nothing. So he's not fucking you? Seriously?"

"I'm the Warblers assistant," Kurt explained haughtily. "How do you not know that? You're dad runs the record company."

"Okay, firstly, he fucks all his assistants," Sebastian shot back. "Even the straight ones. And secondly, I don't have access to company information, princess. Think what you want of me, but my dad needed integrity to survive the blow hole that's the international music industry."

"Alright, sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything. I've never even met the man," Kurt placated.

"Whatever. Why were you cozying up to Blaine if you're not his boyfriend? You a fame whore?"

"His manager told me to be his plus one because there was a seating plan issue," Kurt replied angrily. "I'm not using him, and we're not dating. Not that it's any of your business."

"You're not?" Adam asked quietly, and Kurt turned. Not only had he forgotten the man was beside him, his tone was so... hopeful.

"No," he said carefully.

"Do you want to be?"

"I don't know," Kurt admitted. Adam's eyes glimmered a little less at his admission. "At least Blaine doesn't know what just happened," Kurt changed the subject awkwardly. "Small mercies."

"Actually he does." Sebastian passed his shot glass across the bar and ordered a beer.

"...You just told him, didn't you?" Kurt's voice was low, disbelieving. Sebastian's silence was confirmation. "You are such a jerk!"

"Oi, I thought he was your boyfriend," Sebastian shot back. "I was doing the right thing. And how about you be a little nicer to the guy who marched your attacker out the door and came back to make sure you were alright, princess."

Kurt's answering laugh was humorless. "You're right, thank you _so_ much for having your moral compass pointing north. How can you even be friends with him, knowing he's capable of _that_?"

Sebastian took a generous swig of his beer and wiped his mouth. "I guess I'm just a poor judge of character. Kind of like the guy who walked into a bathroom with him. Alone." Sitting on a stool, he folded his leg over the other loosely and appraised Kurt with a smirk.

"I didn't walk in there with him, he followed me in!" Kurt snapped. "Jerk."

* * *

><p>"Are you okay?" Blaine asked once they had driven for 20 minutes and parked the car.<p>

Kurt shook his head. No, he most certainly was not.

Blaine had been surprisingly calm when he arrived at the pub. Having expected him to come in with his temper at full throttle, Kurt instead startled when he hurried over, hazel eyes wide with concern, and pulled him into a fierce, shaky hug. His fingers pressed and squeezed into Kurt's shoulder, his other hand possessive at his waist.

"I'm okay," Kurt whispered in his ear. "He's not here. I'm okay."

"I'm sorry," he breathed against Kurt's neck.

Kurt looked him over in confusion. "Hey, no. It's not your fault."

"Yes it is," Blaine replied, eyes swimming with unshed tears. "It is. He did this because of me. I fucked up. I-"

"Shhh," Kurt cooed.

He said his goodbyes to Adam, who looked between Kurt and Blaine with an oddly pained grimace and made a hasty exit, while Blaine talked furiously with Sebastian in a corner. Then he allowed himself to be steered into the front passenger seat of the car Blaine drove to find him.

Now they were parked the pleasant buzz of alcohol was lessening, the magnitude of his narrow escape taking hold.

Out of every situation he'd been shoved into, near sexual assault in a public bathroom topped the list. Even worse than the day Dave Karofsky forced a kiss on him. Beyond being voted Prom Queen. Even having slushies and coffee thrown at him seemed like a cake walk in comparison.

"I'm an idiot," Kurt moaned, head back against the headrest. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed time would rewind itself.

"No, you're not. You were just taken in by one," Blaine said darkly.

"You know how they say: 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me'?"

Blaine hummed his assent.

"It's _such_ a lie." Kurt pinched the bridge of his nose. "The first is just as much your fault as the second time. It's a scapegoat people use to feel better about their fuck-ups, when they may as well just look themselves in the eye and admit the mistake. This is me admitting I screwed up. I should have realized something was wrong."

The click of a seat belt, then another, and Kurt was tugged forwards until his head fell to rest on Blaine's chest. Kurt let the air puff from his mouth tiredly and his stomach jumped when Blaine's hand curled to the back of his neck, his fingers stroking through Kurt's hair.

"Is this okay?" Blaine asked, other hand hesitant to rest on Kurt's shoulder until Kurt wrapped his own arm around Blaine's back and held him there.

"Fine," he mumbled.

More than fine, actually.

"At least you can admit when you mess up," Blaine reasoned, after a minute or two of silence. "I rarely do that."

Kurt nudged his nose against Blaine's chest. "Yes you do."

"Don't."

"You're doing it now."

Blaine scoffed, but Kurt felt his smile against the top of his head when he pressed his lips there briefly. Kurt shuddered and tried not to read too much into the gesture. That was a slippery, slippery slide he can't climb back up once he's descended.

"Come on, follow me."

Kurt hadn't paid any attention to the road, so he didn't know they were back at the hotel until he left the car on the passenger side and allowed himself to be steered into the lobby. He didn't say a word when Blaine pressed the number for his own floor in the elevator instead of Kurt's. He also let himself enjoy being held around the waist, and didn't read into the fact that Blaine kept pressing reassuring kisses into his hair. Nor did he dwell on the realization they probably shouldn't be as reassuring as they were.

The doors pinged open. Blaine led Kurt down the corridor to his suite, gesturing for Kurt to enter ahead of him. Kurt looked around once the door was closed behind them and locked. It certainly paid to be the lead singer of a band, he mused. Kurt's room was just that – a room, with a small bathroom attached like an afterthought. Blaine's suite by comparison had a large living space, complete with a 60 inch HD plasma TV, a matching sofa and two armchairs, and a grand mini bar. And the view! Kurt's mouth opened in awe: London was dazzling from this view point. A set of sliding doors sat to the side, which Kurt assumed hid the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom from view.

Kurt's inventory was interrupted by Blaine. He stepped closer to Kurt, hazel eyes gentle and attentive, to cup his cheeks gently. "You okay?"

Kurt yawned and nodded. The night's events had thoroughly worn him out and the alcohol from earlier had worn off and manifested itself in a dull ache between his eyes.

"You need some sleep." Blaine steered him by the wrist gently through the double doors.

Kurt would have gawped at the size of the room (and the king sized bed) if he wasn't falling asleep on his feet. He also would have probably thought twice, three times even, about allowing Blaine to walk him to the bed and nudge him onto it. There was nothing insistent about Blaine though; no barely veiled innuendos or propositions. So Kurt didn't question it when he pressed a pair of sweats and a t-shirt into his hand, didn't hesitate to change into them, and smiled softly at the back of Blaine's head, because he had turned to allow Kurt his dignity. Blaine pulled the duvet back and coaxed Kurt under the covers. Finally he relaxed.

"Blaine?" Kurt mumbled sleepily.

"Shhh, just get some rest, okay?" Blaine whispered.

Kurt heard Blaine shuffle around the bedroom, opening and closing draws to pull his bed clothes out and dress himself. Kurt gulped and did his best not to look, catching a glimpse of Blaine's strong, toned back before a t-shirt was pulled down his torso. He slipped his eyes closed guiltily with a sigh. One look won't hurt… or two. So long as it doesn't happen too frequently.

Kurt must have nodded off long enough for Blaine to head to the bathroom and brush his teeth, because when he next came to, a hand was ghosting through his hair releasing its mold of hairspray, and he could smell mint faintly. He blinked his bleary eyes open. Blaine was crouched beside him.

"A glass of water's on the dresser," he whispered. "Night, Kurt."

Kurt hummed and nuzzled his eyes into the pillow. Blaine dragged a blue blanket towards the door.

"You can sleep here, Blaine," Kurt said, squinting through his heavy eyelids.

"No, no, the couch is fine."

"Bed's comfier than the couch." Kurt turned onto his back, arched, and settled under the duvet.

The room was silent for a minute. Kurt thought Blaine might have tiptoed into the lounge, but then soft footfalls padded across to the other side of the double bed, and the duvet gently lifted so Blaine could slide beneath it.

"See… that wasn't… so hard…" Kurt yawned.

Blaine chuckled and switched the lamp off.

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you ever see the letter from Jeremiah?" Kurt felt the body next to him stiffen.

"Yes."

"Was it bad?"

"...He wants money," Blaine said after a long hesitation. "My house... we bought it together. Well, it was my house first. I bought it when the first Warblers album hit number one. It's too big for me, to be honest. I couldn't afford it. But I let my brother talk me into buying it."

Kurt adjusted so he could see Blaine's outline in the dark.

"My parents told me to get a mortgage as a safety net, just in case we were one-hit-wonders. This was in the early days of my relationship with Jeremiah. When we went on our world tour after the second album, I was away for eight months while he was stuck here filming. We weren't… good at long distance. When I got back all he wanted to talk about was moving in with me. 'Wouldn't it be amazing if we both owned this house, Blaine? We could start our life together.' I'd just turned eighteen. The hopeless romantic in me _melted_ and I didn't think it over properly."

"Honey, you don't have to tell me," Kurt asked quietly.

"I want to," Blaine said. "It turned out he'd been cheating on me with one of his cast mates the whole time I was away, but I didn't know that when he moved in. He paid off my mortgage and for about a month it was like a honeymoon... until I caught him fucking Max in my bed."

Kurt reached out and ran his palm soothingly down Blaine's spine over his t-shirt.

"I threw him out, took his name off the property, and because our second album had done so well, and we had all these merchandising deals, I had enough money to just pay his half back and move on from the whole ordeal."

"Why does he still want money if you've moved on then?" Kurt asked.

"...Because I never gave him his money," Blaine whispered, burrowing his head into his pillow.

"But, I thought you sa-"

"-I said I have enough money to pay him back," Blaine corrected. "But when it came to it, I just... I was so _angry_ with him. He treated me like a gullible child. And I felt like such an idiot because I fell for everything he said. I actually thought he loved me. How stupid is that? When really I was just his dirty little secret. His money is still sat in my savings account, and when I saw Max Shockley at an after party, I convinced him to fuck me and made sure Jeremiah found out."

"You wanted to hurt him like he hurt you," Kurt summarized. "I guess I can understand, even if I don't approve." And he did. He was spiteful enough himself to do something stupid in a temper.

"The only reason I've gotten away with keeping his money so long, is because he refuses to file a lawsuit against me," Blaine continued. "The letter you gave to Wes claims he has pictures and information he'll sell to the press if I don't cooperate with him. That's why I was so angry with you when it didn't come straight to me. Wes didn't know what I'd done, and I was too scared to tell him and prove him right; that I'm just a clueless child who needs protecting from myself."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt breathed. "Can I ask why he won't approach you with a lawsuit?"

"Because lawsuits attract media attention," Blaine explained. "Image is everything to him and he has enough trouble with his. You know the soap opera he was on?"

"Hollyoaks?"

"They fired him. That must be why he's doing theater right now."

"And why he's been on your case about money," Kurt added.

"Yeah." Blaine chuckled darkly. "He claims he 'didn't want to renew his contract' with them, but he had two years left on the show when we split up. That was a year ago. Newspapers over here are awful. If they got wind of his being sacked _and_ a lawsuit against me, they'd start asking questions. He's always been careless so it would be too easy to dig up the kind of information he doesn't want out there."

Kurt nodded, even if Blaine couldn't see it. "Can I ask you something?"

"… Yes."

"Is he in the closet?"

"Yes." Kurt could feel Blaine's eyes seeking him out in the dark. "You noticed the lack of press about us, huh?"

"After it was pointed out to me."

"I was his gullible closet twink," Blaine said bitterly.

"You're not, Blaine. He chose to pull the wool over the eyes of an eighteen-year-old, when he's... how old is he?"

"Twenty-seven."

"So he was twenty-six when he did this to you? To a boy eight years younger, fresh out of school?" Kurt folded his arms over his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He could just make the artful swirls out now his eyes had adjusted. "He deserves to be chewed out by the media."

"Kurt, I -" Blaine cut off, rubbing a thumb over Kurt's hipbone. "I don't want any of this to be public knowledge."

"Blaine, you can't possibly defend him."

"I'm not!" Blaine exclaimed. "Especially after what he tried to do to you. Kurt, he's fucking dead to me. You have no idea how much I want to hurt him, but… I just can't stoop to his level. He tried to hurt you because I threatened to use information against him, and he knew he could get to me through you."

"I don't understand."

"Sebastian thought you were my boyfriend," Blaine said.

"So, Jeremiah thought he was hurting your boyfriend," Kurt summarized, "and getting back at you for sleeping with Max?"

"I never should've threatened to 'out' him," Blaine said, gripping the duvet in his left fist. "I was never going to act on that threat, but he went after me first. What was I supposed to do, lie down and take it?"

"Do you want to go to the press about him now?" Kurt asked cautiously.

Blaine hesitated. "No. I'd be no better than him if I went to the press. And he would just tell everyone I was a conniving bastard who stole his money. Neither of us will come out of this looking good."

Kurt burrowed down further. "Is he the reason you don't like going back to your house?"

Blaine nodded. "Too many bad memories." A short silence. "I'll put the house on the market. Give him the money back. It's not worth holding onto a grudge if he's going after the people I lo-like... I'm sorry he involved you."

"Sssfine." Kurt sighed. He blinked sleepily and trailed his fingers up Blaine's cheek, feeling like he was one step closer to knowing him. The real him. Not Blaine Warbler, tabloid fodder, singing sensation and bed hopping extraordinaire.

"What?" Blaine whispered.

"Nothing," Kurt said. He dropped his hand to the mattress, eyes closing. "I just forget sometimes that you're nineteen. You've dealt with so much. You amaze me…"

He could feel the warmth of the body next to him, despite the distance Blaine had left between them, and as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness a pair of soft lips pressed against his forehead. But he probably imagined the ghost of touch to his fingertips, and the feeling that eyes were tracing his face. He slept. Safe.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Kurt can take care of himself. I've always thought so. Notice how he refused Adam's offers to take him home, but was happy to let Blaine. I Hate Mosquitos left some great advice in a review on how to defend yourself against an attack. It's worth a look. **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hi! As ever thank you for all the lovely feedback. I'm so glad you guys reacted positively to the last chapter. I was genuinely concerned and thought it might not be great. **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Nineteen<strong>

Squeezing his eyes shut against the morning sunshine, Kurt nuzzled his face into his pillow. But wait – he inhaled deeply – the sheets smelled of honey, fresh grass, a hint of cinnamon, and a familiar aftershave, different to what he'd grown accustomed to in his hotel room but no less appealing. Sweatpants scratched against his skin and clung to his hips. And when he stretched out, there was room to do so, like he lay in a double bed and not his assigned single.

That's when he remembered. Jeremiah and humiliation. A gentle embrace. The mystery behind Blaine's former relationship whispered into the night.

Blaine. Kurt sat up and took in his surroundings blearily. Right, he'd slept in Blaine's suite instead of his own room, slumbered next to the singer at his own insistence. The man in question was perched cross-legged at the end of the bed, bent over his tablet with hair rumpled from rest, curlier than Kurt had ever seen it. He wanted to touch it.

"Morning," Blaine said. "Sleep well?"

Kurt scrubbed his hand down his face and smacked his lips. "Actually, I did. Sorry I hijacked your bed."

Blaine shrugged, turning to give him a small smile. "For once it beats waking up to a complete stranger."

Kurt ignored that comment, lest the knot in his stomach tightened any further.

"How are you feeling?" Blaine asked.

"I'm okay. Really," he insisted, balling the duvet up in his hands like a shield against Blaine's furrowed brows and probing gaze. "Last night was… horrible. But it's over. I'd like to forget it ever happened. What are you doing?" he asked, leaning over for a glimpse at Blaine's tablet.

"Scanning social media," Blaine replied and surreptitiously hid the screen.

Kurt caught a glimpse of the interface of Tumblr, familiar to him because he'd kept a close eye on the relevant Warbler tags on behalf of Canary Records for months. Obviously they had an entire publicity team doing the same thing, but Wes preferred for someone close to the boys to do it too.

"Do you do that often?"

"Lately," said Blaine with a shrug. "Not usually this closely."

"So, why the extra attention?"

"Quinn called this morning about some pictures of me with someone," said Blaine vaguely. "And before you ask: Yes, she did call you first, but I put your phone on silent to let you sleep."

"How did you unlock my p- wait, what? Blaine, I can't do that." Kurt scrambled for his phone on the bedside table and groaned. "I've got fifteen messages from Wes and Quinn. They're going to kill me."

"No, they're not. I spoke to Wes earlier and explained what I did and why. Not all the details," Blaine added hastily when Kurt's mouth opened furiously. "Just that you'd had a bad night and I was making sure you were okay."

"Do they know I'm in your room?"

"Well, they definitely know you're not in yours. Quinn knocked on your door a few hours ago, and called me when you didn't answer."

"Oh… god."

"Kurt?" Blaine set the tablet down on the comforter and cocked his head. "What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Kurt hissed incredulously. "I've been in your room all night. I slept in your bed. They're going to think that we- that we-" A blush climbed his neck to the apples of his cheeks. "Wes is going to fire me!"

"No he won't," Blaine soothed. "If they ask I'll tell them I didn't want to leave you on your own (which is true) so I let you sleep in my room. I crashed on the couch out there. It's not a big lie, and Wes will believe me."

"Hmmm."

Kurt ground his teeth together, not placated in the slightest. Blaine was looking at the situation through rose-tinted glasses. Bypassing the work related texts, he read one from his dad.

**Dad (05.43am): Something you want to tell me, kiddo? **

It was late in the evening in Ohio when Burt sent that. Puzzled, Kurt shrugged it off and tossed his phone aside. "Who's the latest guy then?"

"You."

Kurt was up in an instant, crawling the length of the bed to peer over Blaine's shoulder at pictures of the two of them from the night before.

The vague outline of Kurt's head pressed to Blaine's chest in the car, could be seen in the first photo; a shot of them walking into the hotel; Blaine shielding Kurt from view in another, arm around his waist. Kurt took the tablet from Blaine and read the accompanying article numbly.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>The Metro<strong>_

_**Blaine Anderson caught with mystery man**_

_Who else has missed their weekly dose of Blaine Anderson scandal? We certainly have! The Warblers leading man has been oddly quiet in the last few months, but that changed last night when he was caught entering a posh London hotel with a mystery man in tow!_

_Who is Blaine's midnight rendezvous? Well, remember that time he was caught with a tall, handsome stranger who turned out to be his gorgeous brother Cooper Anderson? This time around the handsome stranger is Kurt Hummel, The Warblers' PA. _

_But wait, they seem awfully close for an employer and employee…_

_As the pictures show, Anderson drove the pair to the hotel the band are currently staying in last night, handed the keys off, and lead a visibly upset Hummel through the front doors, away from spying eyes._

_A friend comforting a friend, or something more? _

_Click our gallery of photos._

* * *

><p>"Oh, god," said Kurt. This was bad. This was very bad.<p>

"Hey, it's all just speculation. The Kurt Hummel tag on Tumblr is buzzing though." Blaine smirked at Kurt's tilt of the head. "Wait, you've never looked in your tag?"

"I have a tag? Why would I look myself up? I'm not famous," Kurt asked in genuine befuddlement.

Blaine cracked a sheepish smile. "Right. Okay, um… fans research the people we work with," he explained. "It's not just Warblers fans. All devoted fan bases seem to do it. Like, Quinn has a tag because she works closely with us. I'm guessing you have a tag because people spotted you in the background of event videos."

Kurt was barely listening, engrossed in scrolling through his tag. They knew a lot more than he would expect: His date of birth, his role at , his schooling information. Some details that were on his personal blog, and others that were too private to have been found on the internet. Apparently they'd found some New Directions videos from his high school show choir days. There were even gifs of him walking behind the boys at press events.

"How was I not aware of this?" Kurt spluttered. "I go through Warbler tags all the time."

"You don't have a personal Twitter account, so no one has directly sent this stuff to you, I guess. Plus, comments are disabled on your personal blog," Blaine said, taking the tablet back from Kurt and swiping his finger a few times.

_Blaine looks at my blog?_ Kurt wondered silently.

"There's actually something else you should see..."

Blaine typed the word 'klaine' into the search bar and Kurt's jaw dropped. Pages upon pages of speculation, manipulated images and arguments over the status of his and Blaine's relationship littered the tag. Heart thudding in his throat, Kurt clicked one of the Read More's, intrigued.

* * *

><p><em><strong>What do we know about Klaine after today?<strong>_

_Kurt Hummel has been appearing in the background of Warbler events for six months now._

_He was born and raised in Ohio in the US, where he attended McKinley High School in Lima. He was an active member of the school's glee and drama clubs, so clearly he loves performing like Blaine. They must have a lot to talk about._

_Kurt's high school graduation – photo taken from Kurt's blog. The small girl in the front is Broadway actress Rachel Berry. The tall dude is his step brother. The Latina is Santana Lopez, she's in a lot of the show choir videos we've seen._

_Kurt is a countertenor. How much you wanna bet they sound amazing when they sing a duet?_

_He graduated from the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts in the summer of 2015, with a Bachelor of Arts in Musical Theatre and Performance. After taking extra classes, he graduated a year early. We all know Blaine is a huge lover of musicals._

_It was confirmed last night that he works as a PA for the band. Remember we weren't sure he was staff until we saw him wearing that red wristband at the National Television Awards._

_He turned 23 years old in May, and confirmed on his blog that he is gay. Older man EEEEEP!_

_He sticks by Blaine a lot more than the other Warblers. They clearly enjoy hanging out together outside of work. Remember when KaseyWarbling spotted them in MnMs world in Leicester Square? The guys weren't working that day. They just wanted to hang out._

_I don't care what any y'all say, they are definitely close. The photos from last night prove this. Kurt seemed upset and Blaine was extremely protective of him. You don't act that way with a person you don't like. Notice the possessive grip he has on Kurt's waist in the newest photos. _

_Verdict: KLAINE IS SO ON!_

* * *

><p>"They think we're dating," Kurt realized aloud, his breath shortening, lump rising in his throat. "Now I'm definitely fired."<p>

"No you're not, Wes knows the circumstances… I mean, clearly some of the fans do think we're..." Blaine rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, clearing his throat. He took the tablet back from Kurt and typed something else in, his smile becoming mischievous.

"What?" Kurt scowled. He was enjoying this a little too much.

"You wanna' see the best part?" Blaine asked.

He turned the screen. Kurt had to blink a few times to comprehend what he was seeing. Then, with a gasp he bypassed pink in favor of turning bright scarlet in the cheeks.

"Is that-?"

"-The Kurt Hummel Ass Appreciation tag," Blaine exclaimed proudly.

"But I- what?"

Blaine gave a fond cock of the head. "I told you, you're sexy."

Kurt squeaked in embarrassment and dived under the covers, burrowing down. He was never leaving. Well, he would leave when they had to check out, but then he would fly home and hole up in his apartment for good.

"Kuuuurt," Blaine teased. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"There are posts on the internet with my_ ass _plastered all over them, Blaine," said Kurt through the covers. "My dad might see that!"

"You're dad has a Tumblr blog?"

He was teasing. Kurt knew this, but still leveled Blaine with a murderous glare through a gap in the duvet. "When did this even start?"

"Remember HMV in Oxford Street?" Blaine asked. "That's when I first noticed the interest. Well... Jeff did. And he showed me. Long story short, the fans who attended that signing gushed about you on Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and Instagram. They've been reporting sightings of quote: 'The lovely American who follows The Warblers everywhere', ever since."

"They think I'm lovely?"

Blaine abandoned the tablet and lay himself down beside Kurt, propped up on one elbow. "A lot of them do, yeah. You get the odd bitter idiot, but they're just anonymous trolls. The guys think you're lovely too."

"And you?" Kurt asked shyly.

"If you can't tell that I think you're amazing, you must be blind as a bat," Blaine said, smiling warmly.

Kurt blushed. "I think you are too."

"Thank you," Blaine mumbled, fingers grazing over Kurt's cheek. He then seemed to realize what he was doing, and cleared his throat, brushing a dark and curly strand of hair from his pillow. "Most of our fans are intelligent enough to know you don't have to help them out. They appreciate it. _We_ appreciate it."

The intensity of his wide and earnest stare forced Kurt to duck his head. This was becoming a problem. He needed to get a grip.

Unaware of Kurt's inner scolding, Blaine's smile dimmed. He covered his eyes with his forearm, a long sigh puffing from his mouth.

Kurt poked his stomach. "What's gotcha' blue, Blainey-boo?"

"I hate how we have to treat our fans sometimes."

"What do you mean? You guys are so good with them."

"I mean, what the record company organizes to rip them off," clarified Blaine. "That signing thing with the no photographs is just the tip of the iceberg. They insist on so much to get money out of the dedicated fans. Our concerts, for example? We have three different VIP sections every time we go on tour. The gold circle is the up close one and they've paid over £500 or $700 depending on where we are to get in there. The silver circle is back again with the bronze even further. And then there's general admission who can't get a look in because we're charging too much to see us up-close."

"It's not you guys who make that decision," Kurt soothed.

"No, but we don't say anything. We can't. We're not just at the mercy of our record label, a lot of royalties still go to Simon Cowell, since we gained exposure on one of his talent shows. We have no say for another six months or so. Sometimes I miss the days when we didn't play stadiums. The crowds were smaller and intimate. No one was left out and we could go out and meet them all without their paying hundreds for a hug, a picture and a signed tour program."

Kurt rubbed his fingers up and down Blaine's forearm. "Your fans adore hugs, pictures and signed tour programs."

"You can't put a price on hugs and pictures," said Blaine stubbornly.

"Well," Kurt began, noticing a shudder charge from Blaine's shoulders down to his toes when Kurt's thumb dropped to his wrist and traced the map of veins decorating the underside. "I guess we're just going to have to continue countering it where we can then."

"We?" Blaine queried.

"Yeah. You, Nick, David, Jeff, Trent... me?" Kurt ducked his head away from Blaine's blinding smile; wide, toothy and beautiful.

"Yeah, we will," he agreed.

"Kitty's probably going to insist we don't spend so much time together in public," Kurt realized.

"Not happening."

"Blaine…"

"Not happening," he said again, and rolled off the side of the bed. "Do you want some tea? Coffee? Food, you need food. You had a bad night last night. I should have ordered room service. That was stupid."

"Blaine-"

"We're not together!" Blaine snapped.

Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him. "Thank you so much for stating the obvious," he deadpanned. "What's your point?"

Blaine deflated instantly and rubbed his fist over one eye. "No, I- sorry." He groaned. "That came out wrong. I just mean, we're not dating, so- so it doesn't matter if we're seen together. It's not like we're allowed to be anything more than this anyway, right?"

Kurt bit his lip and studied his hands. "Blaine, I thought we were past that. Wes means well-"

"Doesn't make him right-"

"-And you've said so yourself that fans perceive things however they want to. If they choose to believe we're together, they will. We can limit the gossip if we don't - if we're careful about where we hang out. You know Kitty's going to suggest it and she'd be right. Think about it; what if the record company suspects something is happening? I'll be out on my ass and we'd never see each other anyway, because you'd be here and I'd be in New York."

Blaine swallowed thickly and the sight of his arms wrapping around his stomach, like he was physically shielding himself from the truth, ached in places Kurt didn't know he could. "I just don't want to lose you," Blaine said, and cast his eyes to the floor.

"You guys would find another assistant," Kurt reminded him.

Blaine shook his head sadly, settling on the bed beside Kurt. He leaned in so his cheek rested against Kurt's and grazed his right ear with his lips. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

Goosebumps crawled the length of Kurt's neck. He shuddered out a breath. Yes, he knew what Blaine meant. Had he doubted Blaine's feelings for him before, he didn't after last night.

"I can't afford to know it," he admitted. "In case I do something stupid."

Blaine hummed his understanding. "You ever notice how the things that are supposed to be stupid, actually tend to feel the most right?" he whispered.

Kurt chewed at his bottom lip, struggling against a sudden flare of want that urged him to do something irresponsible like kiss him, or bite down on the juncture of his neck. Things he knew would send them over the edge and lose him his job.

He couldn't do it. And as Blaine moved to order room service, he blinked away sudden tears from an unwelcome realization.

When did he fall in love with Blaine?

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><p><strong>AN: If the slow burn is frustrating you, I assure you it's not doing a lot for me either. I sometimes can't resist writing: 'And they kissed and fucked in a meadow. The end.' Relieves the tension when I want to strangle the pair of them for being so thick headed.**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hi, as ever, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews. You're very generous. And I'm glad so many of you are enjoying the slow burn. That's a relief.**

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Twenty<strong>

_**OK Magazine**_

_**Hollyoaks Jeremiah Flynn attacked!**_

_Cor, look at the shiner on Jeremiah Flynn! The former Hollyoaks star has been on the receiving end of a good punch or two! _

_Flynn, currently treading the boards in the West End production of Monty Python's Spamalot, was caught outside the Playhouse Theatre yesterday sporting a black eye, split lip and tell-tale limp, suggesting he was either attacked or caught up in a dispute earlier this week. _

_Representatives for the 27-year-old actor have declined to comment, but a few choice words from long-time pal and model, Sebastian Smythe, suggests it may have been deserved. _

_"He's an idiot when he's drunk," Smythe told a reporter. _

_Whatever the truth, I'm willing to bet Spamalot's make-up department are none too pleased with their colleague. It'll take great skill to cover that mess._

* * *

><p>There has never been a day in his life as The Warblers' assistant that Kurt hasn't suffered through a moment of blind panic. They vary in degrees of severity – the night they lost Blaine in New York City was one of the worst; Kurt rushing Jeff to hospital after he slipped on a Freddo wrapper and twisted his ankle, was mild in comparison – but when Wesley Montgomery called him into a one on one meeting, 'panicked' didn't do it justice.<p>

Immediately he began listing reasons he was an asset to the team.

It had been a week since the photos of Blaine and Kurt surfaced online. Why had Wes taken this long to come after him? Did he take the time to mull his options over, before the inevitable termination of Kurt's employment? Could he be convinced Kurt wasn't about to break his contract and engage in a tumultuous and passionate affair with the lead singer of The Warblers?

No matter how much he might want to.

Stop it! He doesn't think of Blaine that way.

"I don't," Kurt muttered to himself in the days following his epiphany, testing the words on his tongue until they convinced even the biggest sceptics.

In fact, he was so prepared for a fight, that he was caught entirely off guard when, sat behind his desk, Wes gestured for Kurt to sit and opened with;

"Have you given any thought to Mercedes' proposition?"

"I... proposition?" Kurt raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"She did tell you the idea about working on a part-time basis with her and Jan, right?" Wes took his spectacles off his nose and polished them with a Kleenex, replacing them once satisfied.

"Oh! Yes, she did." Shit. He'd been so wrapped up in his paranoia and helping Blaine put his house on the market, that he'd barely given it a thought. "I told her I'd think about it."

"And have you?"

"It- it's a... generous offer, but I just-"

"You're worried work experience will impede your ability to care for the boys?" Wes guessed.

Kurt drummed his fingers on the table, shifting his weight from side to side, awkwardly. "They're a handful as they are," he admitted.

"I know, I manage them, remember? Kurt, believe every word I say here, because I am not being generous. You are the best assistant I've ever hired to look after them," Wes said.

Kurt's mouth fell open in surprise.

Wes' eyes sparkled with amusement. He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk.

"You had a slightly sticky start, but the hours you've put in paid off. From Quinn's notes, I know the boys have been punctual 97 percent of the time since you arrived, which is astonishing because their average was 56 percent before. They don't complain about you. Any issues are handled professionally and with discretion. You're resourceful." He dropped the paper onto the desk again. "I wouldn't endorse you spending an hour a day with Mercedes if I didn't think you were doing your job. As it happens, I have every faith you're capable of doing your full time job and training in other areas."

"An hour?"

"That's what I was thinking for now. Obviously this isn't your average nine to five job, so there will be times Jan will need your help for longer, or you can't get away from the boys. But an hour is enough to start with," Wes explained. "And if you like the work, eventually we can hire a replacement assistant and put you in Wardrobe full time."

"I- I don't know what to say," Kurt admitted. Five minutes ago he was convinced he was being fired, and now the beginnings of a promotion were in his grasp?

"Say yes," Wes said, and leaned back in his chair. "I'll never hear the end of it if you don't. Mercedes is adamant and, well, I can think of one or two people who would miss you if you left for a job elsewhere."

"I- okay. Yes."

"Excellent." Wes clapped his hands and stooped to pull a stack of papers from his desk draw. "I've had HR go over and draft an edited contract for you, one that accommodates this and other work experience opportunities you want to pursue. Read it over and have it signed and handed back to HR within the week. Quinn and Noah are still in New York visiting their daughter so she can't take it off your hands. She'll meet us out in LA. Any questions?"

Kurt cocked his head. "I- I'm not sure I need to know where Quinn and Puck are..."

"She told me you know," Wes said easily. "Although while we're on the subject, she wants their history kept quiet. Puckerman doesn't care either way, but Quinn's worried her professionalism will be called into question if people know she fell pregnant at sixteen."

"Why would anyone do that?" Kurt asked, genuinely perplexed. "She's good at her job. And they hardly interact at work."

"Not to mention we would never discriminate against her." Wes sighed. "One day she'll figure that out. For what it's worth, I'm glad you and her get along these days. She's lonely. She needs friends who aren't Noah. She's too guarded about their... friendship." He shook his head, cleared his throat. "Are there any other questions?"

Kurt pursed his lips, the question of why Wes continued to gloss over the photo issue, ready to be asked. Kitty hadn't even said anything and she was in charge of damage control. Perhaps Kurt was wrong? Maybe the photos really weren't all that incriminating, after all.

"No. No questions."

"In that case, shall we head on down for this meeting? Ms. Delgada's assistant called to say they were ten minutes away. That was twenty minutes ago."

Kurt nodded.

"Are you sure about signing the settlement, Kurt?" Wes asked, stopping Kurt before he opened the door. "Once we get into that meeting room, I can't say a word. I'm there as a witness on your behalf only, so if you want to refuse their offer, you have to say the word now. We can still take this matter to the police."

"I'm sure," Kurt said firmly. "I want this over with, and something tells me the justice system won't be as quick and painless."

"I don't think so either. Alright. Let's get this over with."

* * *

><p>"Blaine, this is stupid. Why can't I know where we're going? If someone recognizes you, I can't help if I don't know where I am," Kurt whined.<p>

Rolling his eyes good naturedly, Blaine held his Oyster card up to the barrier, walking through into the ticket hall from the London Underground.

Blaine was taking it upon himself to cheer Kurt up after signing the settlement.

Kurt had mostly tuned out the talking that commenced in the final meeting, having heard the majority during the negotiation process. Skim reading the final draft had taken little time, and he understood the terms, and that the payment from Harmony's record company would take up to six weeks to wire into his possession. With his signature on the line, it was official: He could no longer publicly comment about Harmony's behavior.

When the meeting finally adjourned, Kurt smiled despite himself to find Blaine outside the conference room. The singer winked at Wes, flipped off an affronted Harmony, and led his bewildered assistant out of the building, down the street and through the underground.

To where, Kurt had no idea, but the idea of spending his day with Blaine put him at odds with himself. Part of him wanted to avoid Blaine like repellent ends of two magnets. The other craved his company and attention.

"You're at Waterloo Station, Kurt."

Kurt scowled at the back of his head. Blaine's curls were dressed in a loose grey beanie today, despite the August warmth, to help disguise his identity, along with the hipster frames perched on his nose.

"I know that!" Kurt snapped, boarding the escalator up to the National Rail concourse of Waterloo Station. "I read the signs when we got here. I want to know where we're _going_."

"Hush," Blaine said. "It's called a surprise for a reason."

"I hate surprises."

"You'll love this one."

"I'm not reassured."

Blaine ignored him and scanned the board listing the latest train times and destinations. Kurt looked too, but gave up when he couldn't work out which entry was interesting Blaine. Instead he took in his surroundings; the hustle and bustle of travelers, the parade of shops and restaurants above them on the second floor, the busker in the corner performing a medley of Keane songs, pigeons roosting above their heads peck, peck, pecking at stray crusts on the floor... a teenage girl looking past Kurt, head to the side.

Kurt shimmied closer to Blaine blocking her view of him. With any luck the hipster attire would successfully confuse her skills of recognition.

"This way," Blaine said, touching Kurt's elbow to get his attention. "And no looking at the board when we get to the platform."

"Why?"

"Because it's a surprise."

With a growl of disapproval Kurt flounced after Blaine, who queued briefly for the ticket machines and purchased two, one for himself and the other for Kurt. Before Kurt could snatch his own orange ticket from Blaine and sneak a look at the destination printed in the corner, Blaine held it aloft with a tsk at his impatience and made off towards platform 19.

Flabbergasted, Kurt jogged to keep up and said, "I'm gonna' need it to get through the barrier."

Blaine just smirked and continued his approach. The barriers were less cramped on this side of the station. They came to a wide metal gate, where a man in a luminous green bib smiled widely at Blaine, accepted an envelope passed to him, and tucked it in his back pocket. With a cursory look at both tickets in Blaine's hand, he opened the gate and gestured for them to pass.

"What was that you gave him?"

"A signed photo for his daughter," Blaine explained once they were out of earshot. "I met him once before and promised I'd bring one next time."

Kurt's heart fluttered like a butterfly in anticipation of its first flight. The rail employee was just one guy in a train station, easily forgotten, but Blaine remembered him anyway.

Blaine nudged him in the side to get his attention again. "I meant what I said. Don't look at the board."

"Urgh."

Settled into a First Class compartment, Kurt listened to music for the hour long trip, so he wouldn't hear the announcer listing the destinations. When they were nearing their station, Blaine slipped a sleep mask into Kurt's hand and gestured for him to put it on. Kurt complied with a long-suffering sniff. He hoped no one was paying attention to how ridiculous they were being, when Blaine walked him off the train and down the platform.

Once Kurt could hear the hustle and bustle of a street, Blaine steered him by the forearm, righting Kurt when he stumbled, giggling in his ear every time he made a sarcastic comment.

Kurt didn't want to admit he was enjoying this.

"Okay," Blaine said, and placed his hands on Kurt's shoulders. He turned him to face a specific direction. "You can remove your blindfold."

Kurt did so and squinted in the sudden bright light. The sky was cloudless today; the English summer having found its footing with the arrival of August. Grey cobbles made up the bridge beneath their shoes, like a black and white photograph from the early 1900s. Kurt scanned his surroundings to work out where he was, smiled down at the now familiar River Thames, twinkly and gentle in the sunlight, and turned his gaze from the flow beneath the bridge to what lay ahead of them.

He gasped. "Is this...?"

Blaine grasped his shoulders. "Welcome to Windsor."

Windsor. The home of Windsor Castle, the oldest and largest castle in the world still occupied by a monarch. Or so Kurt had read. The Queen lived there! She might be there now. Kurt squinted up at The Round Tower, remembering what Blaine had said at Buckingham Palace about the Royal Standard flag's significance. Where it would usually be though, the Union Flag flapped in the gentle breeze. Kurt got over the disappointment quickly, dizzy in his excitement.

"You brought me to Windsor Castle," Kurt said. "Oh my god, I don't- you remembered?"

"Of course I did." Blaine eyed Kurt from the side like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Grabbing Kurt by the hand, he led him across the bridge into central Windsor, where he stopped them at the entrance to a road looping up and around the castle. _Castle Hill_, Kurt read on a nearby sign.

The town was buzzing around them. Buses and cars chugged up and down the hill while the tourists around them bustled past one another, some staring up at the walls of the castle to snap photos, others far more interested in the parade of restaurants, pubs and tacky souvenir shops across the street.

"We have a couple of options," Blaine said. "We can go and eat lunch now. I know this amazing Thai place that's discreet just up the hill. Or, we can eat later and take the castle tour now."

Kurt grabbed at Blaine's bicep, eyes wide. "We can go inside the castle?" he squeaked.

Laughing, Blaine started their assent up the hill, palm pressed to the small of Kurt's back. "Castle tour it is."

* * *

><p>"Oh my god," Kurt moaned and flopped down on an open stretch of grass.<p>

The tour of the castle interior and grounds had been amazing, everything he'd ever dreamed of. Kurt had fantasized about living there once or twice in his youth. As a way of coping with her sudden death when he was eight, he'd convinced himself his mother was a long lost grandchild of the British Monarchy, and that one day he would be part of it too.

Looking up at the castle now from where Kurt and Blaine had settled a short distance away on The Long Walk, his childhood aspirations had come back to him, pleasant and welcome, the hurt of longing for his mother having faded long ago. The tree-lined avenue Blaine led Kurt to after the tour, stretched up to the castle from Windsor Great Park and was so beautiful that they weren't the only people who chose to settle there in the late afternoon. Picnic laden families and groups of teenagers were spread across the lawn, absorbing the last of the day's sunshine.

"I take it you're enjoying yourself?" Blaine asked smugly.

"Yes," Kurt admitted, rolling over on the blanket Blaine had pulled from his bag and spread on the ground, to face him.

"So will you trust me next time I have a surprise for you?"

"Nope."

"Hey!"

"One good surprise does not heal the trauma of all the bad ones I've had in my life, Anderson," Kurt huffed.

"It helps though?"

"...Yes, it helps."

They're silent for a few minutes, Kurt content to gaze at the castle, head propped on his own forearm. His eyes closed for a while and when he opened them, he smiled serenely at Blaine.

"By the way I was doing some research into the property market," Kurt began, thumb stroking at Blaine's elbow to get his attention.

"Mhmm." Blaine pressed his other arm to his eyes. Shirt riding up, a slither of Blaine's flat, soft belly was exposed. Kurt fought the urge to move his hand a few centimeters to graze the curly hair below his belly button.

"How attached are you to North London?" Kurt asked.

"Not overly, why?"

"Because I found this really sweet house up for sale in an area on the outskirts. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, decent back yard, recently remodeled kitchen. It's not as far out as here, but it might be nice. I looked into it. You might have more privacy there."

"Where are we talking?" Blaine asked, and slipped his sunglasses on so he could look at Kurt in the late afternoon sun.

"Richmond upon Thames."

"Richmond," Blaine repeated. "I think I might have gone past it once or twice on a train. Is that the kind of place you'd like to live?" Blaine asked.

"Why does that matter? It's not me buying," Kurt scoffed.

Blaine blinked at him expectantly over the top of his shades.

"Okay, I guess I would, yeah? I feel like you need somewhere the media are less likely to bother you, and its close enough to the center so you're not, like, isolated either," Kurt reasoned. "You could really set up a home there. So, if the Warblers don't work out, you'll still have a place to call yours."

"I'm not the only one who needs a place to call their own, you know," Blaine said slyly.

"I have a place," Kurt reminded him. "In New York."

"Yes, but you don't live there," Blaine contradicted. "Not really. Look, I don't know if you're sticking around after your twelve month contract is up, but if you are, you can't insist I stop living in hotels and continue doing so yourself."

Kurt cocked his head. He hadn't considered that. In four months he was going to need to decide: Extend his visa and continue working with The Warblers, or go home. If they'd still want him.

"Blaine, I can't buy a place here. What about my dad?"

"You don't have to buy. Just rent a flat."

"A what?"

"An apartment. You're coming into some money in six weeks. You could take out a short-term contract with a landlord, or even move into a house share."

They're quiet for a while, the murmur of chatter around them the only sound, while Kurt mulled Blaine's words over. The money from the Harmony settlement would enable him to live fairly comfortably in his own space. No roommates. But he still paid his share of the loft in New York. He'd be throwing the hush money down the drain.

Then again, with so much of his work based in the UK, maybe it was the other way around. Was it the loft that was an unnecessary expense?

"Okay, I'll make you a deal, mister," Kurt began. "Let me book you a few house viewings for after we get back from America, and I'll look into renting an apartment here. Deal?"

"Deal." Blaine held the tips of Kurt's fingers in his own hand and gently sealed the agreement.

"You're seriously going to let me choose houses for you?"

"I trust you," Blaine said with a shrug, his smile lopsided and fond.

"That's a lot of power you're giving me, Bee."

"Exactly, now all you have to do is trust in my surprises from now on and we'll be even," Blaine rebutted cheekily. "Give and take."

"That's not fair!" Kurt shoved at his shoulder lightly and yelped when Blaine dragged him down, pinned him to the blanket and tickled up his sides.

"That's plenty fair," Blaine said.

"Blaine…" Kurt gasped. "We're in public. People could get the- the wrong idea- oh for the love of- stop, stop, stop! You've made your point!"" Kurt's futile attempts to wriggle away from Blaine's fingers were thwarted when Blaine grabbed Kurt's hands to pin them above his head.

He grinned down at Kurt. "If I stop tickling will you trust in me and my awesome ideas?"

"Please, do not start singing The Jungle Book," Kurt warned.

_"Trust in meeeeeeeeeeeee_," Blaine crooned in his best imitation of the snake from the Disney animation. "_Jussssst in meeeeeeee!_"

"Oh, god, why?"

"_Shut your eyeeeeeeees and trust in meeeeeeee_."

Kurt caught Blaine off guard, switched their positions and covered his mouth with his palm. "People are looking," he pointed out, dissolving into giggles.

"Go- -ou to -augh," Blaine said through Kurt's fingers.

"What am I going to do with you? I can't believe the whole world doesn't realize what a dork you are." Kurt flopped on his side, but held Blaine's hands to the blanket in case another tickle attack was imminent. "You've had everyone fooled."

"No one's really interested in seeing this side of me," Blaine said quietly. He tugged his hands free and picked at grass at the edge of the blanket.

"I am."

Blaine's hand paused, the blade of grass between his fingers forgotten. Removing his sunglasses, he dropped them to the blanket and let his honeyed gaze flicker up to Kurt's.

Kurt's cheeks grew hot under the scrutiny. There was something about the way Blaine looked at him that left Kurt raw; not dissimilar to how he imagined being naked on a stage in front of hundreds of people would feel. It was unsettling and welcome in equal measure. And it never failed to start his blood running hot under his skin.

"What?" He tried to laugh, but it came out squeaky and unnatural.

Mouth opening and closing on its hinge, Blaine cocked his head to the side and let out on an exhale, "Go out with me."

"I... Blaine," Kurt spluttered.

"Right," Blaine shook his head and sat up to pinch his nose between his eyebrows. "I forgot. Wes."

"Wes," Kurt confirmed, sitting up with him. How he hated Wes.

"If Wes lifts the ban, will you go out with me?" Blaine asked again.

"Honey, he's not going to-"

"But what if he did? Would you go out with me? And I mean a real date. I just-" Blaine blushed from the back of his neck to the roots of his hair, his shoes all of a sudden interesting to study in detail. He took a deep breath. "I like you. I- I can keep pretending like this isn't anything, but I make up ways to see you all the time, Kurt. I'm fed up of acting like I don't do stuff just to have an excuse to spend more time with you."

Breathing. Kurt should probably do that. A lack of air in his lungs was incredibly counterproductive to answering. Because, yes. He was scared of how _much_ he wanted him. This Blaine, the adorable, bad tempered, thoughtful dork; he would shout 'yes' to him in a hundred languages.

"Would you?" Blaine whispered.

"Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Notice the article about Jeremiah lists more injuries than Kurt inflicted on him... Make of that what you will. ;)**


	21. Chapter 21

**The Warbler is a Tramp - Chapter Twenty-One**

_**Pop Sugar **_

_**Exclusive footage: Blaine's summer rendezvous with rumored boyfriend**_

_The lead singer of The Warblers has been mysteriously missing from the tabloids lately, and now we know why. Blaine Anderson has a boyfriend!_

_Okay, so it's not confirmed, but you review the evidence: _

_Anderson was spotted Tuesday afternoon in the quaint town of Windsor, England, where he and the band's PA, Kurt Hummel, took a tour of the Royal residence of Windsor Castle, before whiling the afternoon away on the romantic Long Walk._

_Fans who sat a few meters from them in the afternoon sun, captured footage of the playful pair laughing and whispering to one another before battling it out in the cutest tickle fight we have ever seen. _

_The Twitter user who posted the original video said:_

_GinaWarbler4EvA: Blaine A is here in Windsor with Kurt! This is not a drill! They are so adorable! #warblerinlove_

_Just last week Blaine was caught outside The Ritz hotel in London with Hummel, sparking speculation over their relationship. Blaine escorted him into the hotel, where the two remained until the band checked out the following afternoon. _

_What do we think? Has Blaine Anderson turned in his bachelor card for domestic bliss? Or is this a publicity stunt to mend the singer's sullied reputation? Watch the video below and decide for yourself, folks!_

* * *

><p>"Kurt, don't take this the wrong way. I'm glad you're giving this a shot, but, what's changed?" Mercedes asked. "Last week you were humoring me when you said you'd think this over, and now you can't wait to get started."<p>

"I just- you're right. I'm not going to be the guys' assistant for the rest of my life," Kurt said, painfully aware of just how true this statement would be if he allowed his feelings for Blaine to trample his common sense. "I can't have Broadway, but maybe I can have fashion. It's my second love, and anyway I think you need an ally over here."

"You're damn right I do. If you're sure…" She eyed Kurt nodding his eagerness. "Welcome aboard. I've already talked over the specifics with Wes. You're sticking with us for the video shoot, because we need all the help we can get, and the set has runners for errands. Just don't slack off in the day job and get me in trouble, 'kay?"

"I won't." He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Thank you, Mercedes. I know I reacted badly but, I really appreciate what you're doing for me."

"Anytime, baby," she said. "Are we doing lunch later?"

"Definitely. And I'm sending the boys to you later for fittings, right?"

"Four o clock," she confirmed. "Come watch and learn. We're making them a little less uniform for this shoot like you suggested, so hopefully it gets the green light from that Abrams guy who's directing. Then maybe once we're done you can tell me what's bothering you? And don't think you're getting away without filling me in on the Windsor trip the internet's going nuts about."

Kurt fluttered his fingers on the way out, his smile slipping when he turned the corner. Damn. He hoped she'd let the existence of that video go without comment.

Despite his attempts to appear normal and unaffected by the risky progression of his relationship with Blaine, he could feel people watching him, like his feelings were painted all over his face, vivid as a Van Gogh painting.

Perhaps they were. Perhaps he was paranoid. Perhaps his efforts to mask his true feelings made them plainer to the casual observer.

They were certainly obvious to himself, now he'd shed his last layer of denial.

No longer was he capable of telling himself the tinge of red to his cheeks, the thud of his heart in his throat, the pleasant but inappropriate swooping sensation below his navel, and the heightened sensitivity of his skin with Blaine in close proximity, was from the heat, coming down with a cold, or lack of sleep. He couldn't pass off the fantasies dominating his alone time as guilty one-off's, because they were happening every night, his right hand pumping to a too-much but not-enough climax, fueled by the memory of every tactile touch.

Blaine couldn't seem to help himself, now he knew Kurt welcomed his attention. Thanking Kurt with a hand down Kurt's back, hooking his chin over his shoulder to see the schedule, letting his fingers linger longer than necessary when Kurt passed something to him.

Kurt craved these moments, a thirst that wasn't curable by a sip of water, and he had to keep busy to ignore it.

Blaine hadn't broached the subject of dating with Wes yet, choosing to leave it until he was in a better mood. Filming on Santa Monica Pier for the music video had been set back a day by an unexpected earthquake damaging a third of the equipment. Wes had arrived on the scene and lost his temper, forcing Kurt to agree wholeheartedly: Now was not the time to piss him off.

Especially after that video in Windsor.

Interviews had to be delayed, meetings pushed back, studio sessions rescheduled, time off cancelled, security details rearranged, potential publicity breaches foreseen ahead of time, mornings made earlier than originally planned.

And to cap it all, the weather was scorching. The British team members were unused to the heat that, according to the perky weather lady on Good Day LA, had swept in from Arizona overnight.

Kurt was jarred out of his worries by a text from Quinn telling him she had made it to the hotel, after flying in from New York.

"You're definitely working with wardrobe then?" she said, when she let him into her room.

"I am. It's hard to argue when everyone is telling you to go for it," he replied, eyes on the altered schedule programmed into his tablet, ready to be relayed to her.

Quinn arched a perfect eyebrow, her green eyes narrowed in contemplation. "Is it what _you_ want though?"

"Huh?"

"Everyone has told you to go for it, but do you actually want to?" Quinn pulled him down onto a chair set up in the corner of her room. "Because I can tell you from experience; doing what everyone else thinks you should, isn't necessarily what's best."

"No one bullied you into this job," Kurt chided.

"No, but they did try to bully me into being the sixteen-year-old high school drop-out, who marries the baby daddy." Quinn smiled wryly. "I have nothing against teen moms who take that path, it's just... not me. There's too much I want to do, and Puck and I are in this too deep with Beth and her foster mom to back out now."

"How is she?"

"Happy she's not itchy anymore." Quinn laughed. "She's got a few little scars now from all the scratching she sneaked in when Shelby wasn't looking. And I think she missed us. She didn't even let me out of the cab before she threw herself at me."

Kurt laughed. "I'd love to meet her one day."

"We're back in New York for two weeks in a few days, so maybe I'll bring her to the recording studio," Quinn replied with a soft, faraway smile. "What were we talking about?"

"Me doing work experience."

"Right. I guess what I was trying to say is, if there's something else you'd rather be doing, go for it." Quinn took Kurt's tablet from him and quickly emailed herself the new schedule. "It's not too late."

Yes it is, Kurt thought dully. He'd wanted Broadway, but Broadway hadn't wanted him. Kurt tilted his head to the side with a fond smile and said instead, "Where was _this_ Quinn back when I was interviewing?"

"She was buried in a mountain of work and didn't think you'd last the week," Quinn admitted archly. "She also didn't know how nice you are."

Kurt laughed, taking the tablet back from her. "Quinn, I... I'm sort of floundering on what I want to do. I know I want to be in the entertainment industry, I just don't know where any more. It can't hurt to try out other positions to see what fits, right?"

"Sounds like a smart idea actually," Quinn said, eyes lingering on the palm trees outside her window. "Maybe _I_ should…"

"A very wise woman just told me that it's never too late to try."

* * *

><p>"Has he said anything to you about that video yet?" David asked.<p>

The shoot for the music video was finally in motion and, with a bit of luck, they were only six hours away from wrap being called. Jan, Mercedes, Sugar, and Kurt had been running around adjusting the boy's outfits, touching up make-up and thrusting them in and out of their trailers in the hazy heat for two days.

Mercedes looked up with interest at David's words. Kurt ignored her, eyes on David's collar, debating whether to whip it off him to run a quick iron over it.

"Who, Wes?" Kurt asked. "No. I've been expecting something since the paparazzi photos came out the other week, but so far it's like they don't even care..."

"They care," David said softly. "Wes has been taking meetings with Kitty. And I overheard him telling Quinn that the suits upstairs are concerned with the lack of strategy from PR. You know, over 'the Blaine issue'." He made bunny ears with his fingers and rolled his eyes. "Something's being figured out. We just don't know which way they're going to spin the media interest in you."

Damn. "I thought the silence was too good to be true."

David patted Kurt on the back awkwardly. "If it makes you feel better, you're probably the least of Wes' worries right now. He's under pressure to find another female vocalist for this track, after Harmony didn't work out."

The director was calling the band back to the set.

Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt finally made the collar align properly against David's neck. "Done."

"Thanks. Try and stay out of the way of paparazzi while we're here," he said, walking backwards towards the open space the other four were rehearsing in for the next take. "We're at Hollywood's doorstep. They're gonna' be keeping an eye out."

Kurt dropped his head into his hands, exhausted from a powerful combination of jetlag and stress. He needed a vacation.

"You okay, boo?"

"I wanna' have a girly night." He lowered his voice to a whisper when the 1st AD called for quiet on set. "Just us and maybe Quinn?"

"Yeah, sure..." Mercedes eyed him critically. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

He would be. Just as soon as he knew how much trouble he was in.

* * *

><p>A girl's night turned out to be exactly what he needed. Once he'd convinced Sugar to quit pestering him about Blaine.<p>

Well, convinced probably wasn't the word for it. He simply distracted her with the news that Mercedes had been secretly dating a mystery guy for the last month, and like a cat with a new ball, she'd batted at that subject and wheedled until Mercedes was ready to throttle her. Mercedes then steered the conversation to Quinn's sort-of-but-not-really high school romance with Mohawk Muscle Man, as Sugar called Puck, and Kurt quickly took pity on Quinn and changed _that_ subject.

Kurt stumbled back to his room after midnight, to find Blaine sat outside his door.

"Blainey!"

"Hey, where've you been?" Blaine asked, hopping to his feet. "You look... buzzed?"

That's one word for it.

"Quinn, Mercedes, Sugar and I had a movie night... cocktails were involved. At least, they were meant to be cocktails. I don't know what Sugar put in the Sex on the Beach, but I don't think it was meant to be that sour."

Kurt rested heavily against the wall, eyes raking over Blaine shamelessly. He was dressed in grey sweatpants and a tight black polo shirt, the gel from the video shoot washed away until his curls flopped messily against his forehead.

"Hi," he said.

Blaine chuckled and held his hand out to Kurt. Tongue peeking in concentration, Kurt slapped a five and held his own up for another.

"No!" Blaine laughed and pried Kurt's key card from his left hand, "I was going to open the door for you."

"Oh. Sorry. Here you go." Kurt frowned at his empty hand and looked around the floor. "Wait, I don't have it. Where'd it…?" Blaine held it up. "…Oh! I must have dropped it."

The door was open now and Kurt's heavy head fell back against Blaine's shoulder. He allowed himself to be steered by steady hands at his hips, to sit on something soft. It was a mattress. And Blaine was beside him. Kurt rubbed his forehead against his polo shirt. He smelled like cinnamon and aftershave.

"I'm just going to get you some water," Blaine said, throat clearing.

Kurt didn't want Blaine to move away, but laying down on a soft mattress was tempting. Flopping onto his back, he closed his eyes and curled into a ball. It made the ceiling spin like a top, so he placed one foot on the floor to steady his equilibrium.

Blaine was back at his side. "Sit up, beautiful," he said.

Accepting the water bottle held out to him, Kurt mumbled a "thank you" and sipped. The cool water was a welcome balm to his throat.

Kurt leaned his forehead against Blaine's shoulder again, not even caring the hairspray he'd methodically applied earlier had lost its grip. The smell of aftershave was even stronger with his nose pressed to Blaine's neck. He breathed it in deep and nudged the tip of his nose at the juncture between Blaine's shoulder and neck.

A shudder powered through Blaine, grip tight against Kurt's waist. "What are you doing?"

"You smell good," Kurt mumbled and pressed little kisses into Blaine's skin.

Whining, Blaine cupped Kurt's cheeks and held him out of reach. "You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk." Blaine cocked his head at that so Kurt sighed dramatically. "Okay, I'm a little drunk! But I know what I want so, shhhh."

"I know you do, but I still have to ask Wes. Remember?"

That did sound familiar. Thinking started to hurt though, so Kurt sipped more water.

"That's why I'm here, actually. The shoot's over so I'm going to ask him," Blaine said. "Is that okay?"

"Ask him...?

"Wow, you really _are_ drunk. Maybe we should have this conversation when you've slept it off," Blaine said.

"No, no! Now."

"I'm asking him if I can take you out on a date," Blaine said slowly.

Kurt's eyes widened. "You're doing that _now_?"

"Well, not right this second, but probably tomorrow. Is that okay?"

"I feel sick."

"Shit, do you need a bucket?"

"No, no, not _drunk_ sick._ Scared _sick." Kurt clung to Blaine's shoulders clumsily. "He's going to fire me. He'll chuck you from the band. We're going to be like King Edward abdicading- I mean abdicat...? Abdi- saying bye bye to the throne to marry Marge Simpson-"

"Wallis Simpson," Blaine corrected, cheeks pinched like he's trying not to smile.

"We'll have to move to France for the rest of our lives. Can you speak French?"

"Kurt, I think you're blowing this a little out of proportion," Blaine replied.

"I don't want to move to France!" Kurt whined. His head shot up when Blaine threw his head back and laughed. "Hey!"

"I'm sorry," Blaine said, pressing his smile to Kurt's forehead. It tingled to the tips of his fingers and toes and made it a little harder to be mad at him. "You're just really adorable."

"Your accent is adorable... it's all..." Kurt yawned. "English."

"I specifically recall you telling me your first week with us, that British accents weren't a thing for you?" Blaine teased.

"I lied."

"Well that was rubbish of you. What other lies have you been feeding me?"

"That's a weird word, 'rubbish'." Kurt giggled into his hand as he tried to sound it out. "Rubbish, rubbish, _ru-bish_, rub-bish- no wait it's gone weird." Kurt screwed up his nose, lips pursed in concentration. "You ever get that? When you say a word too much and it feels weird? RUB-ISH. No, it's all wrong."

Blaine smiled indulgently. "Yeah, I get that sometimes. 'Bed' is a funny word too. Speaking of bed, you should get some shut eye."

"You're not gonna' stay?" Kurt pouted at Blaine, who pressed his lips to Kurt's forehead again, fingers tickling the hairs at the back of his neck.

"Not tonight. We'll talk again in the morning, when you've cleared your head. That sound good?"

No, that sounded bad. Blaine would be gone. And Kurt wanted to kiss him. He was right there. He could just do it. But sleep sounded good too. And he wasn't allowed to kiss Blaine. So sleep would have to do.

"Mmmm... kay."

* * *

><p>Waking up didn't feel good. Kurt's head felt like a stampede of miniature horses had trampled it in the night. Tequila. Why did he say yes to the tequila?<p>

He groaned and burrowed his head into his pillow, blocking out the sunlight that trickled in from behind the curtains. Blaine must have drawn them for him last night. Blearily he glanced over the room. Blaine wasn't there, but a bucket from the bathroom had been placed beside the bed, a full bottle of water sat beside him on the nightstand with a packet of Tylenol too. A note was propped against his lamp.

_Hey mister, the guys and I have interviews all morning, but we decided to let you sleep it off. Yes, Wes is okay with it (apparently Quinn's in a bad state too? What the hell were you guys doing?). I hope the headache isn't too bad. I'll see you later._

_- Blaine_

_P.S. You are the most adorable drunk I have ever seen._

"Ass," Kurt grumbled, flopping back down. He was too groggy to even berate himself for oversleeping. Water. Tylenol. He made himself sit up again and took two tablets, washing it down with half the bottle of water. Dozing for an indeterminable amount of time, he was shocked back to consciousness by the violent buzz of his phone against the nightstand.

**Wes (11:14): Kurt, did you read all of your new contract when you signed it this time around?**

Kurt sat up and cocked his head at the message. Of course he had. Not… thoroughly. It was the same contract with a few additions. He _had_ skimmed it again to refresh his memory though.

**Kurt (11:16): Yes. I agreed to the conditions. Why?**

**Wes (11:17): Go back to clause 19. **

Fishing the contract out of the draw by his bed, Kurt laid it out on his pillow and skipped the first 14 pages to the section specified. He'd barely glanced it over the second time, not wanting to see the words that bound him to a promise he was finding it harder and harder to keep. Just last night Blaine had stopped Kurt kissing his neck! He groaned with embarrassment from the memory. He'd always gotten a bit tactile when he was drunk, in complete contrast to his guarded existence as a sober man.

The technical jargon was difficult to focus on in his state; hung-over and tired, but Kurt forced himself to read pages 14 and 15 thoroughly, only to pause on page 16. The title for the next section stared back at him.

He frowned. That was odd, he could have sworn there was more relating to the professional nature of his relationship with-

Grabbing up his bag, he pulled a folder full of important documents from inside and searched until the original contract he'd signed back in February was in his grasp. Skipping straight to page 16, he found the section that was supposed to be in the revised contract.

Kurt looked from the first contract to the second, the second to the first and back again, over and over. It was definitely missing from the new contract, but that couldn't be right. Why would they leave it out? Had it been moved to another page?

Unless...

His phone buzzed again. Kurt snatched up the phone and opened Wes' message.

**Wes (11:26): Don't make me regret it. **

"You have _got _to be kidding me!"

The phone dropped to the mattress. His heart was hammering as he settled back against his pillows, hand over mouth.

Wes had changed the conditions over a week ago. Blaine wasn't out of bounds.

"Fuck."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Holy shit, I did not expect such a reaction to the last chapter! I'm glad you guys liked it. Hopefully this one doesn't disappoint, eh? **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp – Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>

It took three hours for the knock on his door to come. Too much time for Kurt to dance, curl up in a panicked ball, pace from one end of the room to the other, deal with his breath, hair and body odor, and ransack his temporary closet and suitcase for the perfect outfit for whatever conversation and… other stuff could happen.

He felt like a kid discovering the school rules had been thrown out. How are you supposed to pick one formerly forbidden thing to do, when they all become available at once?

There was every chance the pent up frustration simmering beneath the surface for the last six months would manifest itself beyond his control.

What if Blaine ran in the opposite direction?

_He better not_, Kurt thought. It was his own damn persistence and loveliness that had reduced Kurt to this state of overwhelmed heartache, the sexy, beautiful bastard.

Determined to at least pretend he didn't feel nauseous with anticipation, Kurt made himself stay on the bed for five whole seconds, before leaping across the room and, with a deep breath, turning the door knob.

"Hey." Kurt hoped his smile hadn't turned out as uncomfortable as he felt.

"Hi." Blaine dipped his head shyly, his tumble of curls flopping to his forehead. His dark wash jeans fit snuggly around his waist and thighs, the red polo shirt unbuttoned at the top. Blaine cleared his throat. "So- so I spoke to Wes and, he seemed a little surprised I was asking about you?"

Kurt covered his top lip with his fingers. "Yeah… I think I know why."

"It's one of the weirdest conversations I've ever had with him, actually," Blaine continued, leaning against Kurt's door frame. "Which is saying something because he's been managing us for years now, and we've been friends even longer."

Beckoning Blaine inside, Kurt shut the door behind him and pressed his back to the varnished wood. "How did this weird conversation go?"

"Well, at first I thought I'd hidden my feeling from him better than I thought. But no, he's actually well aware I like you. And then he asked why I was even _bothering_ to come to him for permission, which was just… He said he thought he'd made his position clear in the last week."

He cocked his head to the side, wide eyes surveying Kurt through his long lashes.

Kurt opened and closed his mouth, but no words materialized.

"Could you... maybe elaborate on this for me, Kurt? Because I'm really confused."

Breathe. Kurt pushed away from the door with his shoulders to settle by the two contracts strewn across his bed. "Wes gave me a new contract to sign, to cover work experience in the wardrobe department," Kurt began. "I- I didn't read it in full, because if I had I would have realized the section stopping us seeing each other... it's gone."

"It- what?"

"The clause is gone, Blaine."

"But..." Blaine's eyebrows knitted together. "I- Oh."

"Yeah." Kurt laughed, still disbelieving.

"So," Blaine licked his lips, "if I were to ask you out again properly… I can?"

"Looks like it," Kurt said.

"What else can I do?"

Blaine pulled Kurt to his feet, other hand at his waist. He nudged Kurt's nose with his own.

"Kiss me, hold me..." Kurt's breathing caught in his throat, for the first time allowing the intoxicating scent and warmth of Blaine's hands through his shirt, to overwhelm him. He closed his eyes to avoid the pull of Blaine's and shuddered. "Sleep with me."

Blaine swallowed thickly, cupping Kurt's cheeks between his palms. "I can kiss you?"

Kurt bit his lip when Blaine's mouth skimmed the apple of his cheek.

"Here?"

Kurt's inhale was sharp, his nod of agreement jerky. Lips made a trail up the column of Kurt's throat and he clutched Blaine closer, fingers tight in the soft cotton of his shirt.

"What about here?"

Kurt nodded again, mouth forming an unconscious O.

"What about…" Kurt opened his eyes when the feathered touch of Blaine's fingertips grazed his bottom lip. It made him ache. "Here?"

Blaine's eyes darted between Kurt's in search of a sign. His breath was a ghost of touch over Kurt's mouth, warm and tempting, and all it took was a glance into the honeyed glow of his wide, fearfully hopeful gaze, for Kurt's last defense to crumble.

The first kiss was chaste. Just a press of lips. Hesitant. Perfect.

Not enough. Kurt whined when Blaine withdrew a fraction, winding his arms around his neck to slot their mouths together more firmly. It felt like he was roasting over an open flame, months' of tension kissed away by the most achingly tender lips he had ever felt against his own. Blaine's hand was tracing Kurt's spine, the other stroking delicately at his waist. Like he couldn't believe he was allowed and wanted to savor every caress.

Kurt's eyes squeezed shut. He broke away to lean their foreheads together. "I want you... _so_ much," he whispered.

Blaine clutched him closer in response. Pulling Kurt's bottom lip into his mouth, Blaine suckled experimentally and elicited a shy moan from Kurt, who was entirely overwhelmed with touch and heat and the strong thud of Blaine's heart pressed against his chest. His own heartbeat loud in his ears. They tugged one another closer, Blaine lifting himself up on his toes in a silent plea for more. Kurt couldn't have denied him if he tried.

After a time and with great reluctance, they broke apart, gasping for air, lips skimming, just long enough for Kurt to, forehead against Blaine's, whisper; "Is this okay?"

Blaine laughed incredulously, because _of course it was okay_.

And with that, Kurt surrendered to instinct. Chest to chest they backed up, Kurt licking deeply into Blaine's mouth until his back hit the wall. Then, tearing his lips from Kurt's, Blaine moved to suck tiny kisses into his jaw, surprising him with a seductive flick of the tongue behind his ear. Kurt's groan could surely be heard in the next room. His head fell back, in a desperate hope Blaine would take the hint. He did, burying his nose in Kurt's neck, kiss after heart-fluttering kiss pressed to his bared throat. Blaine's teeth tugged playfully at Kurt's earlobe and he whined, the buck of his hips and the heat zapping straight to his groin, involuntary but _so_ good.

Too much, too soon.

"Blaine, wait… slow," he gasped.

Blaine's nose fell to rest at the juncture of Kurt's neck, breath heavy, heaving. "Hmmm?"

"We just got here," Kurt said, shaking his head to clear it. "Too quick."

"Right. Slow. You," Blaine mumbled incoherently. His breath was hot, puffing over Kurt's skin. "I promised myself I wouldn't rush this. Don't want to mess up."

Kurt cupped the back of Blaine's neck and met his dazed, dark eyes, held him there. "So far you're not."

"You're so beautiful it's really hard to think." Blaine pressed a kiss to Kurt's shoulder, and Kurt wanted to giggle at the cheese behind that statement. Except, it didn't sound insincere coming from Blaine.

"Come on we should talk," Kurt said, and walked him to settle at the foot of the bed.

_O__h_, perhaps not the best idea, because now all he could think about was every guilty fantasy he'd ever had about Blaine.

"Fuck it."

Kurt swung a leg over Blaine's lap and slammed their lips together. Blaine chuffed in surprise, scrabbling at Kurt's waist, kissed back with puppy-like enthusiasm. Several minutes were lost in one another, the cheeky nibbles and reverent caress of lips starved of one another too long.

Closer. Kurt wanted to be closer.

But Blaine tore himself away and mumbled, "Slow." He was panting. His forehead fell to rest against Kurt's shoulder. "Slow."

It was a reminder to himself, but Kurt agreed regardless. "Slow." He pulled Blaine in by the scruff of his neck; his lips were like nectar, sweet and addictive.

"That's not slow," Blaine laughed between kisses, making no move to stop.

"I'm trying," Kurt said breathily.

Kurt's fingers were tugging his polo away from his collar. "I thought we were going to- to talk?" Blaine said.

"We are."

"About us."

"Still are."

Blaine half laughed, half gasped when Kurt simultaneously latched onto Blaine's collarbone and ground down on the erection trapped in his jeans.

"Kurt, you're making this really – ah! – hard," Blaine choked.

"That's kind of the idea."

Blaine giggled and nudged Kurt's face up again. Leaning back on one hand, he gazed adoringly through hooded eyelids. Kurt shivered when the fingers of Blaine's free hand grazed his face; his nose, his eyebrows, the styled flick of his hair.

"You can stay on me if you like, but you were right. We do need to talk," Blaine said.

With a frustrated growl, Kurt let Blaine scoot gingerly out from under him and back against the pillows. His arm raised invitingly and Kurt crawled over, resituating himself in Blaine's lap, both legs the same side, knees curled to his chin. He wrapped a loose arm around Blaine's waist.

For a few minutes they were quiet. Relaxed. Happy to enjoy the novelty of holding one another, after so long guarding their every touch.

Blaine spoke first. "We need to talk about where this is going."

Kurt kissed his collarbone, smirking at the little mark he'd left from before "Shall I start or you?"

"Can I? I don't know where but- please?"

Kissing Blaine's lips once, twice, three times for good measure, Kurt burrowed his head in the crook between Blaine's neck and left shoulder. "Take your time."

"… I'm crazy about you."

Kurt closed his eyes, his smile serene, heart thumping its approval. He knew Blaine wasn't finished though.

"But?"

"But…" Blaine sighed above him, pressed a kiss to the top of Kurt's head. "You know how complicated my life is."

Kurt nodded.

"Relationships in my position are hard. You know how Jeremiah and I went wrong. I was away for so long… I guess I should have known he wouldn't wait."

"Blaine, that's not fair," Kurt said. "He should have had more self-control. You didn't cheat on _him_, right?"

Blaine was silent a moment. "I came close to it once," he admitted. "This guy – he was a fan – basically threw himself at me. I hadn't seen Jeremiah in two months and… I was lonely. He kissed me and I let it happen. When I realized what I was doing I made him leave."

"...Well," Kurt floundered. "There's a difference between nearly letting it happen and... acting on that impulse."

Blaine was silent for a few moments. "If it had been you I was in a relationship with and I admitted to letting that happen, would you be so reasonable?" he asked.

"Of course I-" He stopped, because no that wasn't true, was it?

He closed his eyes and imagined that he didn't work for The Warblers. That Blaine was his absent boyfriend while he worked in New York. Imagined Blaine admitting to letting another man kiss him.

It hurt to even think about.

And he had been in this situation before. When he and Adam had been dating for just over a year, they'd spent an evening in a popular club in Manhattan. A few drinks in, Kurt had left for the restroom and returned to see a stranger with his lips attached to Adam's neck, their hips grinding together on the dance floor. It took Adam too long to pull away, and while his ex-boyfriend insisted he was the innocent party in that situation, Kurt knew what he'd seen. And he'd never truly forgiven him for that momentary hesitation.

It was the catalyst for their growing apart. The reason he would have never considered getting back together with him. Not that he'd ever truly loved Adam. He knew that now.

"Are you trying to tell me I can't trust you?" Kurt asked, and caught Blaine's eye sternly.

"No, no!" Blaine scrabbled at Kurt's waist with one hand and cupped his face with the other. "I learned my lesson. I would never, _ever_, do that to you." He kissed Kurt, all tongue and desperation for Kurt to believe him. And Kurt let him. He needed the reassurance.

"I'm telling you because I don't want secrets between us," Blaine said when he broke away. "The thing is… I know how hard this is. Not just the potential absence, but also the pressure."

"Blaine, I work with you guys. If you go on a tour, I'll probably be there, as your assistant or in wardrobe or something," Kurt pointed out. "It's not the same."

"You won't always be," Blaine said. "At some point you will branch away."

Kurt scoffed.

"You will, okay? You're too amazing to stay with us forever." Blaine cupped Kurt's cheek with his palm, smiling when Kurt leaned into it. "And… the band won't always be together. We could lose all our fans tomorrow and it would be over. And then what? You'd forge an incredible path. You'd write a one man show and debut it on Broadway and win a Tony. You'd dress the next pop princess. Premiere your own line at New York Fashion Week. Something really glamorous and… not with me every moment."

"I'd make time for you."

"I would too. But then there's the whole… fame thing."

"What about the fame?"

Blaine scrubbed his hands up and down his face. "It's a lot. Fans always want to know who we're dating. The media gets off on it. People already suspect we're a couple and when it's confirmed… it won't just be _me_ anymore. Eyes will be on you too; judging you, picking you apart. People will see you as my fucking accessory, okay? They'll accuse you of using me, belittle your accomplishments and make out like you only succeeded because of your association with me. You get on Broadway? _'Oh wow, clearly fucking Blaine Anderson has its perks'_. You'll be accused of being in it for the fame."

Kurt didn't care about people's opinions, but Blaine was too far gone, gesticulating with passion, the crease between his eyebrows tighter with every word spat from his lips.

"And then there's the homophobia. You've told me what it was like for you growing up. Bring the whole world into that. Everyone will want to have their say on us-"

"Blaine, slow down-"

"-You know I get hate mail, hate tweets, nasty comments on tabloid articles, politicians condemning me because I like cock. That will be aimed at you too, Kurt. And it's really. Fucking. Hard. To. Handle."

Kurt cupped Blaine's face to shush him, thumb stroking against his cheek.

"I won't always be able to protect you," Blaine gasped out. A tear slid from his eye and lazily down his cheek. "I need you to think this through." He put his hand over Kurt's, the one still against Blaine's cheek. "You have no idea how happy I am you… feel something for me, but I-"

"Feel something?" Kurt shook his head, a small, incredulous smile curling his mouth. "Blaine, you have to know… I'm crazy about you too, you idiot. Really, stupidly, against my better judgment, crazy about you." Kurt punctuated his words with kisses to Blaine's face.

"Kurt, please do this for me. Think it over? Because... god, there's no way for me to say this without it sounding like I'm trying to manipulate you. I swear I'm not. I just..."

"Blaine, say it. I'm listening," Kurt whispered.

Blaine took a deep breath. "I- I don't think I could handle it if you turned and ran at the first sign of trouble. If this turns out to be too much for you in the public eye, when everyone is treating our relationship like entertainment... I need you to understand. The high points will be amazing, but the lows are going to be excruciating with the world's expectations on us."

"I know."

"I don't want you to get hurt, but I'm too selfish to do the noble thing and let you go. So before we get in over our heads, please think about this? I'm going to woo you like you've never been wooed in the meantime, and if you decide the pressure will be too much… I'll accept that. We can go back to being friends."

"What if I do decide that?" Kurt began carefully. "Are you _really_ going to want to know me? If you said just being friends is too much, I..."

"Kurt, to be honest," his thumbs began to massage Kurt's palm, "I'd rather have you in my life as a friend, than not at all."

Kurt took a deep, cleansing breath and nodded. "Okay."

"About this date I promised you." Blaine peeked up at Kurt through his lashes. "Our flight to New York leaves tonight, and Wes says he's locking us in the studio for two weeks to finish our album. I think we're only going to be let out to network at a few events in the evenings, so I don't know when we're going to have a chance to-"

"I know. I see the schedule before you do." Kurt's fingers slid gently through Blaine's dark curls. "We'll figure something out. And it doesn't have to be extravagant. We could have a meal together somewhere quiet. So long as it's with you, everything else is just… details. Okay?"

Blaine nodded, eyes flickering between Kurt's lips and his eyes. "Okay. Whatever you want."

Kurt wanted to kiss him again. So he did, pulling Blaine's bottom lip between his teeth. Blaine mewled into his mouth and slotted his fingers between Kurt's. And as he was guided onto his back and enveloped by the warm body above him, Kurt knew this boy, his taste, his scent, and his fragile soul would soon be his home, if he followed the desperate plea of his heart.

They had to be sensible. He had to make sure he was ready for this. Why did he feel like whichever path he chose, someone was going to get hurt?


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Because I don't do it enough, I would just like to say a big thank you to my beta and best friend Fiona, aka LadyFiona89 on Tumblr, for all the spelling checks, reassurance and ideas she's given me for this fic. We've been friends for 14 years, knows me a little too well, and I'm not sure I would have even put this out there without her. **

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews too. I haven't had a chance to properly respond to you guys lately, but I do see your comments, theories and encouragement. **

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><p><strong>The Warbler is a Tramp Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>

"Fuck, yes! Hummel's getting laid!"

"Santana!" Kurt scolded, but he couldn't hold back a giddy smile.

Fresh off their video shoot in Los Angeles, The Warblers, Puck, Wes, Quinn and Kurt had boarded their evening flight direct to New York, where they were to put the finishing touches on their album. Which meant Kurt could return to the loft in Bushwick.

His hopes of sleeping until dinner slipped from his grasp the moment he stumbled through the front door with his suitcase. Rachel and Santana were home, and nothing but the juiciest gossip would convince them to leave him be, after months away.

"It's about damn time, Lady Lips. I was starting to think you'd joined the Celibacy Club," Santana continued.

"Oh, shut up, I still love sex. I just like monogamy too," Kurt said.

Rachel snorted indelicately and crossed her arms over her chest.

Kurt eyed her. The beaming smile she'd greeted him with 20 minutes earlier had been replaced with a scowl. "What?"

"Nothing." She left the couch to scoop her bag off the coffee table. "I have rehearsals."

"Wait, Kurt gives us the best piece of gossip we've had in months, and you have nothing to say about it?" Santana pried. "Rachel I-always-have-an-opinion Berry?"

"I don't think Kurt wants to hear my opinion," Rachel said, eyes over bright under her bangs. She disappeared into her bedroom, the curtain falling behind her.

Kurt and Santana exchanged befuddled glances and mouthed in unison: Three – Two – One -

"Okay, you want to hear my opinion, Kurt?" Rachel threw her curtains open dramatically and stormed back to the couch with boots on. "I think Blaine is playing you."

Silence. "Come again?"

"He. Is. Playing. You," she enunciated. "I think you're fooling yourself into thinking he wants a relationship, when actually you're going to be a notch on his belt."

Kurt stared at her. Hard. He looked up at the ceiling, rolled his neck and pursed his lips. She was right; he didn't want to hear her opinion. "While I appreciate your... input on the discussion," he said levelly, "I disagree. You don't know him. I do."

She cocked her head shrewdly. "What happened to the guy who claimed he would never give Blaine Anderson the time of day?"

"He got to know him and changed his mind," Kurt bit.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You think you _know_ him?"

"Better than you do."

Turning away to rifle through her script draw, she scoffed. "I really didn't see this coming. I didn't think you'd be so blind and irresponsible."

Kurt glared at her. "What are you talking about, Rachel? How is it irresponsible to want a relationship with a man who likes me as much as I like him?"

"Because you don't want the same things!" she yelled, slapping the script she'd been searching for down on the draw. "This isn't going to end with you in a relationship with Blaine Anderson, Kurt. This is going to end with you broken hearted and wishing you'd listened when he leaves you on the sidewalk like a piece of gum."

"Oh, will you just-" Kurt screwed his eyes shut against the temptation to scream. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"His _manager _warned you about him," Rachel pointed out. "Remember that? He said this is what Blaine does. He seduces people who work for him and drops them the moment he gets bored."

"Yes, he did," Kurt conceded, "but he's also the man who ripped up my old contract and removed the clause preventing a relationship. Why would he do that if he thought Blaine would do that to me?"

"Because he wants Blaine out of the tabloids, you idiot!" Rachel prodded her finger into his chest. "You _actually_ think the manager of the most famous boy band in the world would alter a contract out of the goodness of his heart?"

Kurt blinked at her dumbly. That's exactly what he thought.

"Take it from someone who has more experience with the industry, babe." She backed him against the kitchen wall, her abrasive personality making up for a lack of intimidating stature. "Blaine's behavior given the band a bad rep. Wes is holding you out like a carrot to a donkey, because he wants Blaine to settle down without his intervention."

"I... shut up."

He nudged her backwards and took off for his bedroom. Rachel sensed she'd struck a nerve though and was intent on making her point clear and understood.

"If he doesn't take the bait, which I suspect he won't by the way," Rachel called after him, "Wes will get rid of you to eliminate the distraction. If you don't quit on your own."

"Rachel," Santana hissed.

Kurt snatched his satchel off of his bed and wiped at his cheeks. His toes were curling into his boots to stop himself marching out there to slap Rachel.

"No, Santana, he needs to hear this," Rachel said.

Kurt rolled his eyes, took a steadied breath and walked out and past her, his destination the exit. Eyes scorched into the back of his head.

"I get that he must have seriously laid on the nice-guy routine to fool you this easily," she continued, "but: It's. An. Act."

"No it's not." He slid the front door open.

"Yes it is! He'll be bragging about the frigid assistant he nailed for years. You'll be the punchline at all the celebrity parties."

Okay, that's it!

Kurt spun on his heel and yelled, "Rachel, I told you to shut up!" Tears he would be _damned_ before he allowed her to see fall, pooled in his eyes. "Why is it so hard for you to just say the words, 'I'm happy for you' and keep your opinions to yourself, like the rest of the human race learns as children?"

"Because I'm not happy for you, Kurt," she shouted back shrilly. "I'm angry."

"About what?" he demanded. "That I'm happy? That I moved out of your shadow? That I get to travel the world? That I almost have a boyfriend again? Are you jealous, is that it?"

"What's there to be jealous of? Being used and tossed out like trash? Get over yourself, Kurt!"

Kurt grinned up at the ceiling. "You're telling _me _to get over _my_self? You think that's a valid thing for _you_ of all people to say? Let me ask you this and I want you to answer truthfully: When was the last time you called to ask what's happening in my life?"

Rachel was startled by the topic change. "I- what? Yesterday."

"Wrong. You called yesterday to ask me to rate your English accent. You didn't ask what I was doing. Not once."

"Yeah, I was listening in on that conversation, Man Hands, and you didn't," Santana chimed in.

"You stay out of this," Rachel hissed at her.

"Oh, fuck off." Santana eyed her coldly. "You're being a huge bitch right now and if I have to live here, I'm not going to be silenced by the Diva of Fleet Street."

"I don't have time for this," Rachel said, looking around for her jacket. "I have rehearsals."

"Yeah, you do that, walk away the moment the argument stops going your way," Kurt snarled.

"You know what, I will walk away from this, Kurt, because if this is what I get for trying to be a good friend to you, then you can go to hell." She pulled her jacket on and paused to shake her head. "You might not appreciate me, but I deserve better. Good luck with your fake boyfriend."

She slid the door Kurt had left wide open, shut behind her. The floor tremored as silence fell. Kurt could have laughed at the absurdity of the situation had he not been so pissed off.

"So, that was... interesting," Santana said.

Kurt's mouth opened and closed several times, thoughts jumping around so fleetingly that he could barely register one before another bumped it aside.

"I'm not frigid."

Santana quirked a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him. "All the things she said, and that's the part that upset you?"

"That's not what I-"

"Hey, I would have been pissed about that too."

"Is she right?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "How the fuck would I know? I've never made a habit of listening in on your bedroom habits, although I suspect it's mostly moisturizing and masturbation that goes on in there. The two not necessarily exclusive."

"Not my sex life!" Kurt snapped. "_Blaine_. Am I- am I wrong to trust him when he says he likes me? Am I really just some twisted game to him?"

"Who plays a game like that for eight months, Kurt?"

"Someone who has a wager on." Oh god, what if the entire band are in on it?

"Okay, no." Santana adjusted herself on the couch and socked him in the back of the head. "Get Berry out of your head right now, Kurt, or you're going to fuck up your relationship with Anderson _and_ your employers by accusing them of shit they haven't done."

"I- right. You're right." He scrunched his eyes up and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just can't believe she thinks I'm that stupid."

"Kurt, she's a jerk," Santana said. "And she'll come crawling back and accuse you of being ungrateful, remind everyone she's the most talented princess on Berry Island and go back to talking about herself, until we want to drown her in vegan soup."

Kurt cocked his head, considering her, dropped his satchel on the floor and took the seat beside her. "She's been getting to you, huh?"

"I can't escape her," Santana snapped, planting her head in Kurt's lap. "All it is these days is, 'Oh I'm so talented, my Miss Honey will be the best ever, my English accent is awesome.'" She shifted around to get comfortable. Kurt waited for her rant to continue. "I could ignore her better when you were here to talk to."

"Sorry."

"Shut it, Hummel, I don't want your guilt," she said. "She gets like this every time she gets a new job, and she's so self-absorbed she can't see the bragging makes us miserable."

"So... still no luck with a record deal?" he surmised carefully.

"All the labels in this city are tone deaf."

"I know."

"I'm considering entering a fucking reality show. That's how bad it is. It worked for your guy."

"Yeah..." Kurt twiddled her shiny black hair thoughtfully. "I know it sounds good, but they don't control their output and still pay for Got Talent launching them," he explained. "Their way may have been faster, but it's not been easier in the long run."

"You could let me know if the Warblers need back-up," she suggested. "I could be the sixth member they need to appeal to the straight male demographic."

"You're a lesbian."

"I've still gots a great pair of tits. They deserve their own fan base."

He chuckled fondly. "I know you don't do sentiment, Lopez, but I won't make a habit of it... I've missed you."

She was silent for so long, he assumed she'd chosen to ignore him.

"You too, Hummel."

* * *

><p>Kurt tried to block out Rachel's words. Deep down he knew her reaction had its roots in jealousy. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder if she had a point. Perhaps Blaine's intentions <em>are<em> noble, but were they always? Had he intended to 'fuck and chuck' like every assistant before? Was that still going to happen? When did he change his mind?

Kurt glanced into the recording booth, smiling when Blaine, dressed today in a simple black shirt and tight jeans, socked Trent playfully in the shoulder. The Warblers had been hard at work all morning, headphones in place, finalizing their latest EP with the producer, Sam Evans.

"Be honest, is it ready?" Wes asked Sam. His suit was pristine, if a little creased from anxiously fidgeting.

"It's still a little rough," Sam admitted. "The songwriter clearly intended this track to be sung in a higher register. And with Delgada off the project, it's taking longer to rearrange."

"I knew we should have gone with one of Luvdall's songs," Wes muttered. "But we're nearly there?"

"Look, dude, I get that you're under pressure to get this out-" Sam began.

"-They've already shot the video," Wes cut in.

"Right, I get that. But if I'm honest, instead of dumping the collaboration, you guys should have found another girl to sing with them."

"You think I didn't try that?" Wes snapped. "Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato, Ariana Grande and Cher Lloyd all expressed interest, but none of them are available right now!"

"Does it need to be a famous recording artist?" Kurt piped up from his corner.

Wes narrowed his eyes. "Pardon?"

"I mean, I," Kurt swallowed, "just because the big name artists are too busy, doesn't mean there aren't newer female singers who would jump at the chance to work with them. Have any been signed to Canary Records lately?"

Wes drummed his fingers on his arm, brows furrowed.

"Or you could look on YouTube or something," Kurt continued, emboldened.

"It's worth a shot, dude," Sam agreed amiably.

Wes took his glasses off, polished them and pressed the intercom button. "Lunch is being served downstairs, guys. Follow the smell."

He cut off the band's whooping. "Kurt, please find Quinn and ask her to book the earliest meeting with Eric Marker," Wes said.

Smirking at the thumbs up Sam aimed his way, Kurt left the studio to find Quinn and her mountain of admin work. Before he could enter the elevator though, a hand snatched his tablet from his grip. Kurt startled, but soon relaxed when a familiar arm looped around his waist.

His eyes fluttered closed, head against Blaine's left shoulder. "I need that, you know."

A swift kiss to Kurt's neck. "You'll get it back."

"I thought we agreed it was hands off until we'd been grown-ups about this?" Kurt said, turning in Blaine's grip to loop his arms around his neck.

Blaine's tongue was hot against Kurt's and the question slipped his mind for several minutes, content to let himself be kissed and held. He would never admit that Rachel's accusations had fanned his insecurities, but he wasn't above accepting any reassurance Blaine could offer.

"I know," Blaine said when he broke away. "But you can't seriously expect me to keep my hands off you in these jeans."

Kurt laughed into Blaine's hair, and bit his lip when said hands smoothed up and down his back.

"And I wanted to give you this," Blaine added, plucking a single gerbera flower from his back pocket and holding it out to Kurt.

"Blaine!" Kurt exclaimed.

"I said I was gonna' woo you," Blaine reminded him.

"Well, now I feel like an asshole. All I have for you is half a packet of Tic Tac's."

"And now I'm self-conscious about my breath," Blaine deadpanned.

Taking the flower between his fingers, Kurt rolled his eyes and gave the corridor a cursory look for spying eyes, so he could pepper Blaine's lips with kisses. Blaine nuzzled their noses together, fingertips sliding into Kurt's back pockets.

"We're in a corridor at work. Anyone could walk by and see this," Kurt whispered.

"Let them look," Blaine said lightly. He tilted his head when Kurt didn't respond. "You okay? You've been quiet all morning."

"I'm fine." Kurt sighed when Blaine raised a coy eyebrow. "It's just Rachel. We had a fight last night."

He frowned. "A fight? You just got home."

"I know." Kurt hesitated, heart thudding in his throat. There was no point in lying. "She can't let tabloid-Blaine go. She thinks you're not interested in being my boyfriend, and you just..."

Blaine tilted his head in understanding. He knew what the press said about him. "What do you think?" he murmured.

"I think she's a bitch," Kurt said.

"No, about me," Blaine said. He took a step back, eyebrows knitted together. "Do you think I'm not serious?"

"I..." Kurt bit his lip and examined a scuff on his loafers. "I don't know."

"... Oh."

Kurt pulled Blaine in at the waist again, traced his fingers over his jawline. "Hey, it's not like that… I'm not going anywhere," he whispered. "I hadn't even considered the possibility until she yelled it at me."

Blaine nodded and rubbed his flat palms up and down Kurt's chest. "So, to sum it up, a girl I've never met thinks I'm trying to trick you into bed?"

Kurt nodded.

Blaine seemed flustered by the accusation but not surprised. "Amazing. You sleep with a couple of blokes and suddenly you're Casanova. You know I would never do that to you, right?" Blaine tilted Kurt's chin with his thumb and forefinger, nudged their noses together. "I know I can be a bad tempered idiot, but I would never intentionally hurt you. Not like that."

"I know," Kurt whispered.

* * *

><p>Did he know though? It was so easy to let himself believe Blaine when they were together, when his kisses and words chased away doubts. But then he was alone again with his thoughts, and Rachel's words mocked him.<p>

'_He'll be bragging about the frigid assistant he nailed for years. You'll be the punchline at all the celebrity parties.'_

"This is stupid," Kurt said to the coffee swilling around his cardboard cup.

His former New York coffee shop seemed almost unfamiliar now he'd been away so long. The interior was exactly as it had been, the same chairs and tables, same barista behind the counter, the same mustard yellow walls. It was his life that had changed, and he couldn't find the peace once supplied by the scent of roasted coffee beans.

No, he needed a wiser man's help. Knowing he'd be at the garage (against the doctor's orders), Kurt called his dad's office, and after the usual pleasantries got straight to the point.

"I- I need some advice."

_"I'm listening."_

So Kurt told his father everything. He explained about the changes to his contract and their reluctance to jump into a relationship. He even gave a vague outline of Blaine's issues with Jeremiah, finally ending on his argument with Rachel.

"She thinks he's playing me," Kurt mumbled. "She thinks his nice-guy persona is just his way of…" God, did he really have to say this to his father? "His way of charming me into- into-"

"_I get the picture, Kurt."_

"Right. So, um..."

"_-Isn't Rachel the one that kid from another show choir tricked into dating him when you were high school sophomores?" _Burt cut in.

"Yeah," Kurt said. "Jesse St. James was her boyfriend and was feeding Vocal Adrenaline information about us. Then he dumped her and made breakfast on her head."

"_Right." _Kurt could practically see him, sat in his office, scrubbing his bald head under his cap._ "And in your freshman year at NYADA, wasn't she played by that Brody character?"_

"How did you know about that?" Kurt asked.

"_Finn is as subtle as a sledgehammer, Kiddo. I know he went and beat that guy when it turned out he was a gigolo. The point is, she's been lied to, manipulated and played, so of course she's gonna' be suspicious of Blaine. She's speaking from experience."_

"Oh." Kurt drummed his fingers on his lap. He hadn't thought of it that way.

"_And as any good friend would, and like you and Santana did for her when Brody turned out to be shady, she's looking out for you."_

"You think she's right?"

"_What do you think?" _Burt asked. _"Rachel knows what it's like to be played, but does she know Blaine personally?"_

"No, she's never met him."

"_So you've gotta' think about this in terms of your own situation, Kurt. Her perspective is biased and she doesn't know Blaine. You do. Do you think he's playing you? Have you ever doubted him?"_

"No… that's the thing, Dad. I never once even considered it. Not since I got to know him. And I'm worried that she's right, that I've been stupid and careless and allowed someone I care about to mess with me."

Burt sighed on the other end. _"I don't know what to tell you, son, but if you want my opinion?"_

"Yes, please."

"_I don't think he's playing you."_

"You- you don't?"

"_That kid arranged for you to be flown across the Atlantic and took time off work to make sure you were okay. Behind the record company's back, I might add."_

"...I don't follow that last part."

"_He didn't tell you? The private plane you flew over in belongs to the CEO of Canary Records. They don't just have instant access to it. Apparently he called in a favor with the guy's son, got him to tell daddy he was using the plane to visit friends here in the States."_

Sebastian. What kind of favor?

"When did Blaine tell you this?"

"_Back at the hospital. You took off with Carole the moment football came on the TV. Kurt, he got you that flight home despite the trouble he could have caused. And from what you've just told me about the drama with his ex-boyfriend, he's been played in the past too. Why would he intentionally hurt someone he cares about the same way? I saw the way he looks at you, Kurt. I may not be the smartest, but I know... affection when I see it." _

Kurt drummed his fingers on the stained coffee table. "You were going to say _love_, weren't you?"

His dad was silent and Kurt wondered if he should repeat himself until a sigh came over the line._ "Kurt, do you really want a confirmation of that boy's feelings from your old man, of all people?"_

"…No. I guess not."

Silence again.

_"You love him, don't you?"_

"If I do, shouldn't the first person to hear me say it be him?" Kurt said lightly.

_"Touché."_

"He's right to remind me about his job though," Kurt said. "I've been with them so long I forget they're famous outside of work. And we've been in a quiet period. A few festivals and charity gigs here and there, but mostly the recording studio. Can I really do this, knowing how exposed we'll be?"

_"You'll only be exposed if you allow yourself to be, Kurt."_

"He has 24 million Twitter followers, Dad."

_"I'm not entirely sure what you just said," _Burt admitted, _"but I'll take it to mean he's popular? Look, Kurt, what do you want me to say? I don't know how all this crap works with the PR folks and the paparazzi. What I do know is that it's _your_ life. You don't have to broadcast anything. Okay, so occasionally you might be spotted at a restaurant or walking down the street, and some anonymous strangers will over analyze and comment, but so what? They still won't _know_ you. You're so much more than gossip on the internet."_

He was right. He was always right. "I love you, Dad."

_"You too, kiddo."_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Rachel means well, in her misguided way.**


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